


And Leaving Me Whole

by ingberry



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fusion, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Werewolf, Angst, Fluff, M/M, Marking, Minor Violence, Pack Dynamics, Romance, Scenting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-22
Updated: 2013-02-22
Packaged: 2017-12-03 07:08:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 35,699
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/695577
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ingberry/pseuds/ingberry
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Life as a newly bitten werewolf is kind of terrible, especially when Merlin gets captured by hunters. It’s not exactly the way he expected his life to go when he moved to London, and he really wishes he could make all of it disappear. Instead, he ends up being rescued by a pack of werewolves with a slew of problems of their own, including an inner power struggle, hunters and rumours of... well, Merlin doesn’t know, exactly, but it’s not good.</p>
            </blockquote>





	And Leaving Me Whole

**Author's Note:**

> This story is a Teen Wolf fusion. The Alpha/Beta/Omega dynamics are from the show’s universe and don’t have anything to do with knotting or self-lubrication (Alpha is the leader of a pack, beta a member of the pack and omega is a packless wolf). I have kept (or at least tried my very best to keep) the basic rules of the Teen Wolf universe, but the story is set in London and all the characters are from Merlin. You should not have to be familiar with Teen Wolf to read this fic.
> 
> When I saw [chosenfire28’s](http://chosenfire28.livejournal.com/) gorgeous art, I couldn’t resist the thought of a werewolf AU! All the love for her skills, seriously. ♥ Leave her feedback at [the masterpost](http://chosenfire28.livejournal.com/277472.html) for her art!
> 
> I have to give so many thanks to [emjayelle](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Emjayelle/), [rameau](http://archiveofourown.org/users/rameau/pseuds/rameau) and [marguerite_26](http://archiveofourown.org/users/marguerite_26/pseuds/marguerite_26) for giving their input on this fic along the way and putting up with my endless questions and rewrites. Especially in emjayelle’s case I need to thank her for all the hand-holding when I wanted to give up XD

The metal digs into Merlin’s wrists, cold and sharp on his skin. He feels it press into his flesh, rubbing it raw and then splitting it open. When he stops fighting against the bonds, his skin slowly heals, prickling faintly before the metal pierces him again as he rushes forwards with a growl that scratches in his throat.

A cold smile spreads on the face of the man bending over him, his smug expression making Merlin want to lunge forwards and tear him into so many pieces that no one would ever recognise him. The smell of him is sickening, cloying and painful when Merlin inhales shakily.

God, fuck this.

He’d only wanted to move to London to see more of the world – to find out how much more his life could be. And when he’d said to his mother that he wanted to find himself he really hadn’t meant that he’d wanted to find an entirely new version of himself where he can hear _every single thing in the universe_ , apparently. Nor had he wanted to find a version of himself that could smell things he didn’t even realise had a smell.

And when he said he wanted to see more of the world he didn’t mean that he wanted to know werewolves apparently exist.

He also didn’t want to find out, first hand, that people hunt them.

“Aren’t you a lovely one?” The bloke above him has alarmingly white teeth that seem way too bright in the darkness of the room. “I think you’re a new little pup. Out there all on your own. Terribly sad, truly, but I’m afraid we can’t really help you.”

The shift is painful and he can’t control it. He has a better grip on it now than he had only two months ago, but it’s still unpredictable and the fear-anger-whatever makes his teeth turn sharp. He snaps into thin air, bristling at the way the guy laughs at him.

“Cenred!” he hollers, grinning unpleasantly. “Come look at this little bloke. He thinks he’s all grown up and dangerous.”

“Stop playing with the vermin, for fuck’s sake,” says the guy who appears in the doorway, his eyes narrowing in disdain as he looks Merlin up and down. “Just get rid of him already. He’s not part of the pack, he doesn’t have anything to offer us.”

“You don’t know that. He might be protecting his alpha.”

The air in the room is so filled with unfamiliar scents – unpleasant ones that make Merlin jittery and uncomfortable in his own skin. Their voices are like sharp nails scratching down his skin, leaving red welts, and it’s all just _wrong wrong wrong_ in every single way. It’s not like Merlin even knows his own instincts much these days, they’re all unfamiliar and too much, but he’s never felt the _NO_ clearer than he does now.

“No, this one’s an omega. They would’ve come for him long ago if he was part of their pack,” says the guy leaning against the doorframe. “Kill him.”

Merlin looks up at the guy in front of him, meeting his eyes, and in that moment he doesn’t mind. _Kill me_ , he says with his gaze, because what kind of life is this anyway? Who knows if he might go out and kill half of London one day with the sharpness of his teeth? Maybe he’ll lose control and turn some poor kid.

So, _kill me, save me_ he says with his entire self just when the growl of another wolf makes his body snap to attention. It buzzes with the need to find them, someone like him, someone he can be with. He doesn’t know what part of him that wants it, but he needs it. Struggling feebly against the restraints, he hears several loud crashes from the room outside until the guy in the doorway disappears from the opening, a hand yanking him back.

The guy in front of him looks at Merlin wide-eyed and Merlin says, “Do it, before they get here” but then he realises that the cocksure hunter who’d taken such glee in the fact that Merlin’s _new_ – he’s new too. There’s hesitation in his eyes and fear tight across his shoulders, and he stands there rooted to the floor until there’s a werewolf dragging him back.

Merlin closes his eyes, trying to get the smell of blood out of his system. A fresh wave of nausea hits him and he wonders vaguely if the restraints are made especially to weaken werewolves, because he can’t breathe properly and his entire being is sluggish. He really needs to get out of these bonds.

He passes out before he can.

***

“Finally,” someone says when he wakes up to the worst headache of his life.

And how unfair is it that being a werewolf hasn’t eradicated headaches?

Merlin groans, pressing his palm against his forehead in an attempt to stop the blinding pain.

“It’ll pass.”

He opens his eyes and blinks against the light for a few moments, searching for someone until he sees a solemn face studying him from a nearby chair. She’s tall and thin, her hair black and her gaze sympathetic in a way that jars a little with the sharpness of her features.

“They used wolfsbane on you,” she says, crossing her legs on the table in front of her. “You’ve been out for a while, but you’ll be fine.”

“Wolfsbane?”

“Poison for werewolves. They lace weapons and bonds with it so it gets in our wounds. At best it slows down the healing significantly. At worst, it kills you.”

Merlin pushes himself up by sheer force of will. He’s laid out on a couch, still in his blood-soaked shirt and for a moment he’s overwhelmed by a wave of homesickness that makes him want to throw up. He doesn’t care about his own flat in London, he just wishes he could be home in Ealdor, sitting by the kitchen table reading to the comforting sound of his mum cooking.

He can’t ever go back to her now, not when he’s like _this_.

“I think they thought taking me would bring you guys to them,” he says because the question doesn’t really need to be asked. His voice sounds with gravelly with disuse. “I don’t know why they thought I belonged to you.”

She looks surprised for a moment, her eyes widening slightly.

“We didn’t know you were there. We’ve been looking for their safe house for a while. They’ve been taking out wolves all over London.”

And, yes, of course he knows they didn’t get there to save him specifically, but he’s still pretty grateful anyway. Because as much as he had, in a weak moment, wanted to be killed, he can admit that it feels overwhelmingly nice to breathe right now.

He can hear other wolves nearby (can smell them too), but it’s hard to filter his senses and he can’t make anything of it. It’s always a confusing web of impressions that he doesn’t know how to categorise. It’s like looking for something in a filing system he doesn’t understand.

Before he can figure out a way to press out the “thanks” stuck in his throat, the girl looks up and he realises someone’s standing in the doorway.

“Arthur, you should probably take care of our guest,” she says, her voice perceptibly light, but Merlin sees the tension in the guy’s jaw. “You _are_ the alpha, after all.”

A warning growl rumbles in the guy’s chest, one that even sends chills down Merlin’s spine and he has to bite back the urge to incline his head to the side, baring his neck.

“ _Morgana_.”

“Oh, spare yourself the dramatics.” She rolls her eyes, sharing a look with Merlin that clearly says “this guy, honestly,” though Merlin isn’t entirely sure why he’s included in her little conspiratory game (he knows it for what it is, because he may be a new wolf, but he’s not new at life.)

“Stop trying to make the puppy think you’re in charge,” the guy says, leaning against the door frame. When Morgana snarls, her eyes glowing a faint golden yellow for a moment, he straightens up and draws himself to his full height. “We need to talk.”

The voice he used is tinged with something strange. Merlin feels it deep in his chest, and he sees Morgana cower under it, involuntarily, as she slinks after him. For a moment, Merlin can hear their voices but it mingles with too many impressions. Moving from the couch, he presses himself to the wall, trying to hone in on their voices among everything else.

For a while it doesn’t work at all but then he manages to locate them and keep his attention for short bursts at a time.

“You can’t keep doing this,” the guy says, his voice sharp and insistent. “I’m your alpha. You bloody well know how fucked we’ll be if I lose control over the pack.”

“Maybe I wouldn’t need to if you stopped making completely bullshit decisions.”

Merlin can hear heavy breathing loud and clear, followed by an angry huff. “I make the decisions that are best for the pack.”

A crash from overhead drowns out whatever Morgana answers and Merlin scrambles to find their conversation again, frustrated with the way it keeps slipping from his grasp.

“… can’t talk sense into Uther,” she says. “It’s not going to work. He’s not on our side anymore; you need to let it go.”

“So, you think it’s better to kill him and all the hunters we can find, and paint a giant target on our back? We’ll be the target of every passing group of hunters. Is that what your grand plan is?”

“They won’t, they’ll be too scared.”

“You’re delusional.”

Merlin lets his concentration slip as they bicker, the bone-deep exhaustion barely letting him keep himself upright against the wall. He only tunes in again when he realises Morgana is talking about him.

“God, you didn’t even want to save that kid.”

“Fuck off,” the guy says vehemently and Merlin can feel the anger in the air like thick smog. It’s suffocating in his throat, spreading in his chest like poison. “I didn’t think we had time, I wasn’t going to sacrifice the pack for an omega. You can worry about helpless loners all you like, but I have a pack to defend.”

Since Merlin’s clumsiness has apparently not been cured by becoming a werewolf, he manages to kick something off the coffee table as he maneuvers himself into a different position and the conversation stops immediately. He closes his eyes in mortification.

Throwing himself back onto the couch, trying to look like he’d just gotten up and knocked into the table, he sits on the edge of it, his elbows resting on his knees. He looks up, meeting the gaze of the alpha – Arthur – trying not to seem as helpless as he knows he is. He may not know a lot about being a werewolf yet, but he’s pretty sure weakness is never a good thing.

“What’s your name, Omega?” Arthur says, leaning against the doorway with his arms crossed over his chest.

Merlin almost wishes he could think of a nickname. It feels weird to use his own name when he feels nothing like himself anymore. He remembers the first time he shifted into this weird wolf-man hybrid, no longer recognising himself. His body seemed to have grown stronger and a bit bigger in general, but some changes only came with the shift, seemingly triggered by strong emotion as much as the phases of the moon. Claws came from the tips of his fingers and his teeth turned sharp. Underneath everything, his face had still been his own, but only barely. It had been disconcerting, to say the least.

“What the hell does that even mean?” he says instead of answering, trying to bring the conversation around to his own terms.

To his surprise, Arthur laughs, a little strained and not exactly good-humouredly. “You can’t talk to me like that.”

“I don’t care.”

“Maybe you should,” Arthur says, lifting his eyebrow.

Merlin sits up straighter, raising his chin as he says “Why?” in an unmistakable challenge. He swears he can hear Morgana snicker.

“Because omega means you’re packless. Werewolves aren’t meant to be alone. They thrive on community, they’re stronger together.” Arthur draws himself up and stands tall, his feet wide apart and Merlin knows what he’s going for. He’s going for impressive and authoritative, and granted, Merlin can kind of give him that. “Terrible things happen to omegas. And as much as I didn’t plan on having you crash our den, I know that kicking you out would probably mean certain death.”

“I can take care of myself,” Merlin says hotly. He might be able to recognise that he’s trying to convince himself more than anyone else.

“I can hear you lying, Omega.”

Merlin opens his mouth to answer and closes it again, his jaw clenching. He huffs out a breath, trying to control the frustration that’s been wound tighter and tighter with every passing day. It doesn’t work at all.

“Fuck, werewolves are ridiculous.” He scoffs, noticing that he’s gripping his own thighs tightly. “This is even _worse_ than the stories. You can hear me lying? What sort of bullshit is this? Isn’t it enough that I can hear my neighbour taking a piss; now I need to know all those truths I never, ever wanted to know?”

An odd laughter that sounds like it should never, ever come from Arthur tumbles out of him and he schools his face back into the detached expression he’d held with slight difficulty.

“Just tell me your name and I won’t kick you out tonight.”

“Merlin.” He looks down at his hands, and finds to his surprise that his claws have come out. Disgust rolls into him with a sickening strength and he hates the way his name is connected to this now. He closes his eyes and thinks of his mother running her hand across his hair, whispering his name good night. And he repeats “Merlin,” sounding much too broken and confused.

“Okay,” Arthur says, just a little quieter than before. “I’m Arthur. This is my pack, you got that?”

“Yes, _your highness_ ,” Merlin says, rolling his eyes, “I think I got that.”

Arthur’s eyes narrow, his lips pulling up into a snarl and okay, okay, maybe Merlin really needs to work on his attitude because he might actually be eaten right now. The growl from Arthur sends an unpleasant tremor through him and he bends his head of his own accord, fighting the movement a little before he resigns.

Merlin really hates this, if anyone was wondering. Of course this self-important bag of dicks would be the one with the powers to make him submit like he’s something _lesser_ and _weaker_ than the rest of them.

He feels himself losing control of the shift again as the humiliation burns in his stomach.

“ _Calm down_ ,” Arthur says, his voice strange and rumbling. “Focus on something human, anything that connects you to something that isn’t the wolf.”

For a moment Merlin considers not taking the advice at all because he doesn’t want Arthur to be right and he doesn’t want to depend on him for even the smallest thing, even if he’s leaving as soon as he can and he won’t ever need to see him again. But then the wolf tries to take over completely and Merlin closes his eyes, thinking about Will and his mum and Gaius until the pressure in his chest falls away and the claws no longer strain against his skin.

“You can stay the night,” Arthur says when Merlin opens his eyes, blinking against the lights overhead.

Merlin really doesn’t have any other choice. He knows that. So he stomps down on the part of him that wants to tell Arthur to bugger right off and says instead, “I take my tea with two spoons of sugar.”

Arthur looks at him like he grew two heads.

***

The pack lives in an abandoned three story office building that has been made vaguely homey by assorted furniture that clash tragically. Merlin’s not sure why being a werewolf means you can’t live in an actual house, but when he brings it up Elena just throws her head back and laughs.

“It’s not exactly easy to find a suitable house around here,” Elena says, throwing an M&M at the back of Gwaine’s head. He turns from the old stove that’s a part of the makeshift kitchen, narrowing his eyes at her as she grins crookedly. Merlin honestly had no idea werewolves came in a happy edition. All the other ones he’s met have been serious and prickly to the point of being a stereotype.

It’s a gigantic relief.

Elena pulls her leg up on the seat, looping an arm around her bent knee. “I mean, we’d need a huge house, and that’d be expensive, you know. Plus, the stuff we’re up to would stick out like a sore thumb in any regular neighbourhood.”

“My, what big teeth you have, babysitter Elena,” Gwaine says in a high-pitched voice and she groans, throwing another M&M at him that bounces off his shoulder.

“Wow, I thought we’d gotten over those jokes before our first full moon.”

Merlin can hear Morgana and Leon bicker somewhere within earshot and he tries not to listen, focusing instead on Gwaine and Elena. Even though Morgana had apparently been the one who wanted to save him, he still knows she doesn’t trust him. He can feel it – the way she smiles too widely at him and includes him in conversation, but slinks out to talk to someone else where she knows he can’t hear. And when Morgana doesn’t trust him, Leon doesn’t either.

He’s not even going to mention Arthur.

Really, the only reason he hasn’t run out of the building – suicidal omega situation be damned – is that Gwaine and Elena have treated him like a normal person ever since they were introduced. Well, they’ve been talking about werewolf related things, obviously, so there’s a limit to how normal it can actually be, but they haven’t tip-toed around him or told him how screwed he is for being an omega.

“We were both bitten in the same attack,” Elena says and he realises she’s talking to him. He perks up a little, nodding as she smiles a little fondly. “Tried to save me, he did, that big goon.”

“Did not.” Gwaine’s voice is muffled. “Tripped and fell on a rock right in front of you.”

Elena gives Merlin an amused look. “Ah, yes. There were a lot of stray rocks in our building.” She shakes her head, muffling a laugh behind her hand.

“Well, whatever I was doing, it didn’t exactly help, apparently.”

“Oh, Gwaine, who cares about that now?” She waves her hand a little before wrapping both arms around her knees. “I can smell emotions now. It’s basically mind-reading, which has _always_ been my superpower of choice.”

The window in the makeshift kitchen is old and blurred. It’s too unclear to see anything outside, but it’s dark and Merlin supposes it’s been an entire day since they found him with the hunters. He knows it’s all new, still, but he really does have to wonder if he can ever talk about it like Elena does when he’s lost so much because of it.

“You’ve been through a full moon, haven’t you?” Gwaine says, glancing over his shoulder for a moment.

“Yeah. Two.” Merlin tries really hard not to think about it.

Elena makes a sympathetic sound, her hand coming out to pat his arm briefly. “Then the worst is over. The first full moons are rough, especially if you don’t have anyone around to help.”

He remembers waking up the next morning, covered in blood, the stench of it burning in his nose and down his throat until he threw up, slumped against the toilet in his flat. He’d looked at himself in the mirror, dried blood trailing down from his mouth and he’d felt like something so completely unlike himself that he wondered for a moment if he was still in there.

It took a few hours of wondering if he’d killed people – maimed them and ruined them forever – before he managed to figure out his senses and realised it was animal blood.

“Don’t,” Elena says and he belatedly realises he probably reeks of misery. “It’s bad for everyone. But you have us to teach you now!”

“What are you gonna teach him, El? How to have werewolf-reflexes and still fall arse first into a puddle of liquefied witch?”

Merlin raises his eyebrows and Elena quickly says “Don’t ask” before laughing, the sound of it bright and out of place.

In the end, Merlin ends up helping with the rest of dinner, standing shoulder to shoulder with Gwaine as Elena talks in the background, her voice a steady, comforting hum. And for a moment he forgets why he’s here and who they are, until Morgana peeks her head in and smiles too wide again, asking for Merlin to help her set the table.

“We have to eat as a pack,” Morgana explains as they circle the table. “Strengthens bonds and all that.”

“Sounds nice,” Merlin says, trying really hard not to feel on edge. He pauses a little before setting down the last plate. “For a moment there I was kind of expecting to have to hunt the food before getting to eat it.”

The surprisingly genuine laugh is nearly forced out of Morgana, her face softer than he’s ever seen it, only for just a moment. He can’t help but smile in return and it feels a little strange, like he hasn’t done that in much too long.

He ends up sitting between Leon and Elena with Morgana and Gwaine on the other side. Arthur sits at the end of the table and Merlin can’t quite hold back the roll of his eyes as Arthur takes the seat with unnecessary gravitas.

“You seem to have forgotten your crown, sire,” he says, his voice mocking. “Should I fetch it for you?”

Elena looks at him wide-eyed, but Morgana and Gwaine snicker like school children at the other side of the table. Merlin feels both guilty and pleased at once, but the guilt takes over a little as he sees Arthur tense in his seat and his fingers tighten around the fork.

Merlin stares down at his plate, trying to re-evaluate his life choices. Clearly, he has a death wish.

He just can’t stand the whole hierarchy of someone being worth more than him for arbitrary reasons. It’s hard to handle that someone makes his new instincts want to submit, so Merlin’s _old_ instincts are running in the complete opposite direction instead.

“Eat,” Arthur says and the others in the pack throw themselves over the food, making Arthur give a long-suffering sigh. “For christ’s sake, we’re not _actually_ a pack of wild animals.”

“Aren’t we?” Elena says through a mouthful of food. “I thought that’s exactly what we are.”

Morgana smiles behind her glass of water. “You’re at least part human, El.”

As Merlin eats in silence the discussion continues around him and he watches them avidly, wondering a little about what this living in a pack thing entails and if this is it – group dinners and nonsensical discussions about the nature of werewolves. He looks at Arthur briefly a couple of times, not wanting to be caught staring, and Arthur seems cautious, but more relaxed than he has been since Merlin arrived.

Merlin realises he’s kind of upset a perfectly constructed balance. He’s a new predator in the fragile ecosystem and now the whole thing is out of sync.

This becomes especially apparent when Merlin wilfully ignores Arthur’s order to clear the table with Gwaine and he finds himself bent forwards, Arthur’s strong hand at the back of his neck like a lead weight. His claws only barely pierce Merlin’s skin, the sting of them a shock to his system.

“Is this the way you pay your respects to the alpha of the pack who keeps you safe?” Arthur says, loud enough for everyone to hear and the growl that follows burrows in under Merlin’s skin. “Follow our rules or get out.”

When Arthur releases him, he rubs at the back of his neck, avoiding everyone’s eyes even as he feels every pair on him. His cheeks burn.

“I’m leaving tomorrow,” he says, because he’s not made for this.

“Fine,” Arthur says, his face tight when he leaves the room with Morgana’s disapproving gaze following him out.

***

Merlin doesn’t leave in the morning. He gets as far as the ground floor before Arthur’s hand clamps around his shoulder and holds him back.

“I can’t let you leave,” Arthur says, sounding resigned and when Merlin turns, his face is drawn and tired. “You’ll die out there. I wasn’t just making that up.”

Merlin looks away, the hopelessness of the situation feeling like a burn in his gut. Because, yeah, it seems rather likely that he might, but he’s _not made for this_.

“You don’t really know anything about living as a werewolf.”

“I’ve made it fine until now,” Merlin snaps, not willing to hear that he’s totally useless at adapting to this because he thinks he’s been trying as hard as he can, all things considered.

“Yeah,” Arthur says flatly, pursing his lips. “Until you got yourself kidnapped by hunters.”

“That was _not_ my fault. Actually,” Merlin says, holding up a finger, “that was _your_ fault.”

“Yeah, Merlin, I set them up because I wanted my hands on your werewolf expertise.”

They both fall silent and Merlin looks at him as he fingers at the hem of his sleeve, trying to figure out how he feels about the pack. He doesn’t know if he can trust them, and he sure as hell doesn’t know if Arthur and Morgana make for particularly competent leaders, but what are his options? Seeking out a new pack might not bring up any better results, and he feels comfortable with Elena and Gwaine, at least.

“What if I stick around a bit,” he suggests, burrowing his hands into the pocket of his jeans, “and you guys can teach me some things? And when I can make it on my own, I’ll go.”

Arthur frowns, studying him silently for a moment. “You can’t keep behaving like you have. The pack needs stability, you can’t keep challenging me.”

“I’m not challenging you,” Merlin protests. “I just. I don’t like being told what to do.”

“When you’re disobeying me, you _are_ challenging me. I’m not saying you’re my slave: that’s not what it is. And it’s not that you can’t ever joke at my expense or have a laugh with me. But the pack needs a leader and you need to respect that leadership.”

Merlin drops his gaze, swallowing against the dryness in his throat. “I can do that.” He feels the lie at the same time as he sees Arthur pick up on it too. “I can try,” he amends.

“Yeah. You better try pretty hard, kid.”

“I’m your age.”

Arthur smirks. “Not in werewolf years.”

Merlin figures it’s best not to address that considering the discussion they just had. He scratches at his arm a little awkwardly, wondering if anyone’s ever going to teach him these proper alpha etiquettes.

“All my things are back at the flat.”

“We’ll go get it later.”

And so Merlin ends up with Elena curled up against his side as they watch TV, Arthur looking at them from the doorway, thinking so loudly that Merlin’s pretty sure he can hear it over the shouting on telly.

***

It’s no surprise to Merlin that his body has changed since he was bitten. He hasn’t really used it, though – not to its full potential. The difference in his muscles, the way they stretch, the power behind each movement becomes something of a shock. When Leon tackles him to the ground and the muscles in Merlin’s back, his arms and his shoulders move to get him off, it feels like something completely new.

He’s surprised at the gust of amusement that escapes him when Leon is thrown aside. Flopping back into the grass, he laughs up against the treetops, listening to the creaking of the grass under his clothes. His muscles stretch and shift in his arm as he moves it experimentally. He feels like a stranger in his own body, but at the same time the newness of it is starting to feel less awkward and more... something else.

There’s not a lot of time to consider this since Leon pounces on him again and Merlin lets out a surprised _oof_ as the tallest werewolf Merlin has ever, ever met (not that he’s met a whole ton of them) pins him down.

“Don’t let him lock you in, Merlin,” Arthur says. “Find the opening.”

It’s almost disorienting to not be stuck in the office building. The sounds out in the woods are unfamiliar and it takes Merlin a while to navigate them. But he sees why the pack does this regular trip out to Epping forest, because it feels freer like this. Better.

They’d taken the bus out to Loughton, walking the last little bit to the forest where Arthur had let them all run wild for a moment, letting their instincts take over. It was still daylight at the time, so no one had shifted (just in case), but it had still been nice to just let himself go.

Elena had jumped around like a puppy, buzzing with excitement. It had rolled from her in waves. He’d smelled it: a slightly spicy tinge of adrenaline and a sweet-smelling trace of relief. It’s a little strange to sense someone’s emotions like that – he’d never really been able to pick it out before then, but it had poured out of her until there was nothing else he could focus on.

The feeling of running free, driven by instinct, is still working in his system and he lets himself fully open up to his heightened senses for once, noticing minute details in the way Leon’s body moves, the way he smells of fierce determination and sweat. He notices the way Leon leans slightly to the left and takes the opportunity to overbalance him, sliding himself out in the opposite direction until he’s standing upright within tenths of a second.

Merlin grins, about to throw his arm out in victory when he suddenly feels dizzy, the sounds of the forest pounding into his head. He can hear Morgana and Elena laughing a long way into the woods on his left. Leon’s laboured breath is so loud it feels like he’s panting right into his ear.

“Whoa, mate,” Arthur says, splaying his fingers out over Merlin’s back and he sags into it, his breath calming slowly under the light touch. “Don’t try it all at once, you’re still just a pup.”

Merlin glares at him, shaking his hand off, even though he loses some of the bone-deep calm he’d felt. “Jesus, I’m not a _pup_.”

“In the way of werewolves, you’re pretty useless right now, Merlin.” To prove his point he slings his foot out, too fast for Merlin to catch on and he falls flat on his back again.

A growl rumbles in Merlin’s throat as Leon’s laughter rings out too loud. “God, you’re an _arsehole_. What is this supposed to teach me?”

“Well, for one,” Arthur says, holding up a finger, “it’ll teach you that there’s always an alpha and to challenge them won’t bode well for you.”

Merlin brushes himself off, scowling at yet another reminder that he’s forever inferior to someone else in some sort of messed up hierarchy of blood-lust and general craziness.

“Secondly, it teaches you that there’s still a lot to learn.”

“Wow, maybe that’s a lesson you could take a second look at,” Merlin says, too quickly and biting and _god, what is he doing_? They’ve had this discussion.

Arthur rolls his eyes and slaps the back of Merlin’s head as he walks past. “Stop moaning and start running. Focus on your sight this time, block out everything else.”

Merlin won’t admit it if anyone asks, but running around in the woods is the closest he’s come to not feeling terrible in the last few months. He feels strangely connected to everything and there’s a freedom in it that settles deep down inside him somewhere. Maybe he can even say he’s a little pleased as his fingers dig into the earth, grounded and strong, but then Arthur sneaks up on him without Merlin even noticing and the feeling of peace slides out of him so quickly he barely remembers what it felt like.

***

Everything goes to hell a little sooner than Merlin had expected, all things considered. He _had_ expected it to go to hell at some point, but he’d thought it might take a while. But, really, as soon as Leon had heard the rumours of something strange observed in the forest, the whole situation was on an express train to the deepest, darkest circles of hellfire.

“You stay here,” Arthur had told Merlin, stopping him with a hand to his chest for a brief moment as the rest of them headed out to check up on what was going on.

“But, I –” Merlin started before Arthur’s expression made him fall silent.

He crossed his arms over his chest, taking a deep breath. “Just for the record, I think I could help,” he said, just because he couldn’t let himself stay behind without saying anything at all.

“Fair enough. But no.”

Merlin had planned to stay behind. He really had. But Merlin’s not made for sitting around. How’s he supposed to just stay back when the others are out there doing things? The time passes ridiculously slowly after they’ve left and the house is too quiet. He paces, not sure what to do with himself in the huge, empty building. He starts thinking about what could happen to them out there. He doesn’t know why he even cares so much, or what he thinks he can do about it. But the thought of sitting there doing nothing is excruciating. Now that he’s turned into this half-man, half-monster thing he’s sure as hell going to use it for something.

Besides, Arthur should probably have realised that Merlin wasn’t going to stay back like a good puppy.

Merlin is not a good puppy. Or any kind of puppy.

The rest of the pack has a head start on him. He doesn’t know if they just ran the entire way or if they took the bus, but he jumps on the next one just to be safe. In all honesty he hasn’t quite figured out what he’s going to do when he gets there. Maybe he should just saunter up and proclaim that they forgot him at home, or maybe it’s best to just stay back and observe in case something important happens.

In either case, he’s not about to miss this, whatever it is. He’s supposed to learn from them, right? He’s not staying with this pack to get benched.

When he gets there, he belatedly realises he doesn’t know where they are. There is no denying that his planning could have been better. He tries to pick out their trail, focusing on one sense like Arthur taught him. But there are so many scents. It’s hard to find anything distinctive, though there’s something that definitely smells of animal, so he follows it until it trails into nothing.

He stops, looking around the vastness of the forest and tries to pick out anything else to go by. Tuning into a faint smell of something undefinable but strong, he sets off further into the trees. He tries to block out the sounds and the sights as much as he can, keeping all of his attention on the scent he’s trying to follow. It’s getting a lot easier to focus on one thing as long as he doesn’t let the rest get in the way.

It isn’t until Morgana says, “Oh god” that he realises he may have gotten a bit too good at focusing on only one of his senses.

The entire pack is lined up to his right. To his left, on the other hand, is a line of strangers and he realises he may have walked into the middle of a stand off.

The guy in the middle of the other pack smiles in a way Merlin can only describe as predatory, as cliche as that might be considering he’s dealing with werewolves. Because the others are werewolves too, there’s no doubt about that.

“Blimey,” says the guy who can’t seem to stop smiling. “An omega wandering into our midst. Must be our lucky day.”

An uneasy silence settles over them and the tension coming from the pack is tangible. Nobody says anything until the guy takes a step forward.

“He’s with us,” Arthur says then, yanking Merlin into the line by his arm.

A look of disbelief crosses the guy’s face and someone behind him snorts.

“Aw, Pendragon. Don’t hog the playthings,” says one of the girls, her teeth sharp against her plump bottom lip.

“Which part of ‘with us’ –” Gwaine makes air quotes with his hands. “– did you not get?”

The guy, who is obviously the alpha (Merlin recognises the signs now), moves closer with his eyebrows raised. He looks fairly unpleasant, although he has an attractive sort of face. It’s round and could probably look rather sweet if it wasn’t for the hardness in his eyes.

“He’s not, though,” the guy says. “He’s an omega. Don’t you think I can smell it on him? And we like playing with omegas.”

“Hey,” Merlin says, stepping forward but stops when Arthur’s hand grips his arm tightly. “I’m not a plaything. Okay there, alpha-face? I’m not afraid of you.”

A collective groan comes from the pack and Arthur pulls him back, putting himself one step in front of Merlin. Merlin tries to push him to the side because damn if he’s not taking this asshole down if he has to.

“Merlin, I swear to god,” Arthur says, throwing him a look over his shoulder before focusing his attention forwards again. “Gavin, seriously, he’s with us for now. You should respect a pack’s claim to territory and in this case, their claim on a person.”

Gavin inclines his head and moves forwards yet again, standing right in front of Arthur. “There is no claim on omegas, Pendragon. You know the rules.”

It falls quiet then and Merlin doesn’t quite know what’s going on. All he knows is that Arthur is silent, looking at the pack ahead of him. They’re outmanned by one, and Merlin doesn’t know if he counts per se, so that makes it potentially outmanned by two. He's not entirely sure what Arthur is thinking. It's clear there are some politics involved, though, and by the way Gavin's smile is widening in an almost manic way, he knows it too.

“Sod off!” Morgana yells before Arthur can say anything and the chaos is just about complete.

Elena hides her face in her hands and takes a deep breath. “Jesus christ,” she says, sharing a look with Leon.

“You should tame your pack,” the girl in the back says and the others laugh.

Arthur squares his shoulders and Merlin can almost feel the deep breath he takes. “Either you leave him be or we fight. I won’t have the death of an omega on my pack’s conscience.”

“So it’s an omega over the relationships between our packs?” Gavin says, eyebrows raised. “You surprise me, Pendragon.”

“Just leave.” Arthur’s voice doesn’t waver. “We’ll check up on what brought us all here. It won’t be your problem anymore, how does that sound?”

“It sounds like you’re putting too much stock in an omega.”

“Take the deal or leave it,” Arthur says and the pack tenses around him, alert and ready.

Gavin gives an exaggerated sigh. “Fine. You have fun cleaning up whatever it is. If you need help, don’t ask us.”

The tension rushes out of the pack when the others leave. They’re gone in a matter of seconds, taking off into the trees. Nobody says anything as the pack starts moving as well. One by one they follow Arthur until Merlin is left standing alone, feeling a little lost and a lot guilty.

The trip back is quiet except the low hum of conversation between Morgana and Leon. It’s an uncomfortable silence. Not even Elena is talking to Merlin, although he isn’t initiating any conversation either.

Back at the office building, everyone clears off the moment they get inside and Merlin is left alone with Arthur. He looks after them, silently cursing them for abandoning him, but then again, he kind of deserves it. 

“What the fuck were you thinking?” Arthur says the moment the last door slams shut upstairs. Not that Merlin thinks it’ll help much, it’s probably pretty easy to hear them anyway.

“I’m not just going to sit around!”

“Yes. Yes, that’s exactly what you’re going to do.” Arthur’s hands clench.

Merlin turns his chin up. “No. I’m here to learn, isn’t that what we agreed on? You can’t just stick me on the sidelines like that.”

It’s silent for a moment. Arthur just looks at him and when he speaks, his voice is so calm it’s almost eerie. “Do you realise what happened there tonight?”

Merlin opens his mouth to answer, but snaps it shut, because he doesn’t – not fully.

“I thought so,” Arthur says, stepping closer until Merlin has to fight the urge to take a step back. “I had to flat out threaten a pack we’ve had a _very_ fragile truce with. Because of you. You’re not even in my pack, Merlin. And I had to jeopardise my pack’s safety to protect yours.”

Shame burns hot in Merlin’s chest and he swallows, his jaw clenching.

“Yeah, well, why the fuck did you?”

They stare at each other. Merlin regrets the words as soon as they’re out of his mouth and Arthur just looks pained, the corner of his mouth twitching as if he doesn’t know whether to speak or sneer. The thing is, Merlin has no idea why Arthur did what he did. In a sense, he’s not entirely sure he even _wants_ to know. He keeps Arthur’s gaze, though, unwilling to be the one to give in.

“This is a collective,” Arthur says, finally. “It’s not a one man show. If you’re staying, you better learn that.”

Arthur leaves him alone on the ground floor, ascending the stairs with sure steps without looking back.

***

Merlin does think about it a lot. He can even admit, at least to himself, that he might have been wrong to defy orders that were probably made in the best interest of himself and the pack. His pride stings, though. He watches Arthur and Leon talk, Leon gesticulating a lot more than is usual for him. Arthur laughs and Merlin looks away, focusing his attention back on the book about supernatural creatures he’d nicked from Elena’s room.

He’s an expert on minotaurs now and he tells them as much, to which Elena laughs and says there’s no such thing. Clearly they don’t want him to succeed.

When Arthur gets up and moves into the kitchen, Merlin puts the book down on the couch and follows him, ignoring the looks he gets from the rest. He stops inside and watches as Arthur makes himself a cup of tea, his hands sure and confident as he moves about. Merlin almost gets stuck looking at them for a moment.

He’s not oblivious to what Arthur did to save him, as much as people may think he is. He’s not ungrateful either. He’s simply just proud – too proud to admit that he might’ve been wrong.

“If this is a collective,” Merlin says and Arthur doesn’t start, he just continues what he’s doing as if Merlin hadn’t been speaking, “you need to include me. If you don’t want a one man show, don’t push me out.”

Arthur stills then, pausing with his hand over the cup.

“Okay,” he says, simply, without turning around.

***

The relationship between Arthur and him has taken a much better turn after Merlin managed to rein in his tendency to challenge Arthur in front of his pack. And Merlin understands it just a little bit better now, because he sees the way Morgana’s disobedience sets them all on edge. He sees the way she makes Arthur uncertain at times, his eyes flickering with something unsure for just a moment, even though he tries to cover it. And he sees the way it splits the pack into two pieces. He realised at some point that he noticed that even on that first night.

But it’s more than blindingly obvious how harmful it is when Morgana and Leon are standing in the doorway after having been gone for hours. Arthur stands in the middle of the room, his face tight with anger. Merlin can practically inhale the fury and he hears Elena whimper next to him. Reaching out, he fumbles for her hand and holds it tight in his, pulling her closer.

Morgana and Leon are dishevelled. There are grass stains all over their clothes and the dirt streaks across their face and down their neck. Morgana raises her chin, though, meeting Arthur’s gaze head on even as his eyes flash red and both Merlin and Elena take a step back on instinct.

“You went for it without us,” Arthur says.

For the first time, Merlin can pick out a faint scent from Arthur – he can feel the distress and he knows it’s his. He’s not entirely sure how or why, but it’s clear to him that it’s Arthur, because it feels like him, like a lingering imprint that Merlin didn’t know he’d gotten used to.

“We got some information,” Morgana says, glancing over at Leon. “We knew we didn’t have time to come back before checking it out.”

Arthur takes a heavy breath and his controlled expression cracks into one of frustration. “You have a _phone_ , Morgana, this isn’t the 1800s. For fuck’s sake!”

“Would you rather it got away?” She snorts, shrugging.

Her answer is met with total silence, but Leon flinches back from the look on Arthur’s face.

“Are you putting your own ego over the safety of the pack? Is it really that important that you’re included in _everything_ , Arthur?”

“This _is_ about pack safety, Morgana! How do you know the two of you could’ve taken it on your own? What if it was a trick? Are you that set on defying me that you’re willing to put Leon’s life on the line for it?”

Morgana looks like he struck her and she shifts (involuntarily, Merlin suspects). Elena’s hand grips him tighter. From the couch, Gwaine gives a heavy sigh and a “Here we go.”

The shift happens so quickly, Merlin can barely catch it, but his own skin itches a little in a phantom change when he sees Arthur’s teeth sharp against his lips as he lunges at Morgana. For a second, Merlin thinks Leon is about to get involved, but to his surprise, Leon takes several steps back, his mouth set in a grim line.

It’s not a playfight. Merlin sees Arthur’s claws dig into Morgana’s shoulder while she tries to flip them over, her hand slashing towards Arthur’s stomach. For a second he thinks her claws have imbedded in Arthur’s stomach and he scrambles for breath, fighting against his own elongating teeth.

Merlin moves forwards amidst the growls, trying to figure out how to separate them, but Elena yanks him back with their linked hands, shaking her head furiously.

“You can’t,” she says insistently, holding her other arm around his waist to hold him in place. “They need to do this.”

“We can’t just let them tear each other apart like this!”

Merlin feels a little frantic, the heavy feeling of aggression coming from the both of them clouding his head and he can’t control the shift anymore as it transforms his face.

“I know it looks bad.” She turns him, trying to divert his attention from the fight, but he’s not quite that easily led. “But they need to do this. It’s the only way to resolve the way they’ve been arguing lately. If you throw yourself in there it wouldn’t go well for you.”

They both start as a chair goes flying past them, crashing into the wall above the couch and Gwaine freezes in place, wood falling around him as he looks up from his phone.

“Bloody alpha conflicts,” he grumbles, picking a piece out of his hair. “Bloke can’t even watch porn on his phone in peace anymore.”

Merlin would laugh, really, if Arthur wasn’t growling in a really unsettling way. He turns to see Morgana pinned to the wall with Arthur’s arm pressing against her chest. His claws press against her skin without breaking it, but the threat is there, heavy and unspoken. Little keens come from Morgana at that and she turns her head to the side, baring her neck.

The tension rushes out of the room like someone pulled a plug and Elena sags against his side, burying her head against his arm.

Morgana slips to the floor when Arthur lets her go and leaves the room without looking back. The room is eerily quiet before Elena entangles herself from Merlin and walks slowly over to Morgana, her movements careful. She gives plenty of warning before approaching and crouching next to her.

Leon follows, looking thoughtful and he meets Merlin’s eyes for a moment, nodding towards the door where Arthur exited. Merlin raises his eyebrows and points to himself questioningly. Leon nods as he too crouches next to Morgana, his expression still grim.

“Oh for fuck’s sake, I’m fine,” she says, but her voice is rough and Merlin stops for a moment by the door, looking at the way she curls her arm around her knees.

He knows there’s not much for him to do here, though, especially since Morgana doesn’t even trust him. She’s better off with Elena and Leon, so he heads into the kitchen and makes a cup of tea in the silence, trying to calm himself down again before he seeks out Arthur.

Arthur is in his own room, sitting on the worn mattress that’s pressed into a corner of the room. There’s dried blood on his cheek, but the wound must have been shallow because it has already healed.

“Can I sit?” Merlin says as he holds out the cup of tea, because he figures that maybe Arthur has had enough of disobedience for one day and Merlin can make an effort for once.

Arthur is too tired to even hide his surprise, his eyebrows raised high as he says “Yeah, sure.”

“Morgana’s fine,” Merlin says when Arthur doesn’t say anything else.

“Of course she is. I didn’t plan to hurt her.”

“No, I guess you didn’t.”

Merlin settles in next to him, forcing himself to stay quiet because he isn’t entirely sure what to say and it would probably just make it worse if he started babbling about things that he doesn’t know anything about. Not that that usually stops him, but he figures it might be the best way to go about it.

The tension in Arthur’s shoulders is so sharp that it looks painful. Merlin wants to reach out and smooth out all the sharp angles of frustration in his body, because it looks unbearably uncomfortable.

“An alpha’s job is to keep the pack stable,” Arthur says finally, resting his forearms on his bent knees. “I’m really failing at that.”

Merlin really isn’t sure he can argue with that. It would be a lie to say that the pack is stable and healthy because it’s not, anyone can see that.

“It’s vulnerable like this. It’s too easy to split us and use us against each other. We don’t plan together like we should. It makes all our instincts weaker. We’re a moving target.”

“Everything’s a work in progress,” Merlin says. “Just because it’s not stable now doesn’t mean it’s a lost cause. You just need to find out what’s in the way.”

Arthur turns to look at him, his eyes large and apprehensive and he looks so unsure that Merlin’s insides twist.

Huffing, Arthur buries a hand in his hair. “I can’t believe I’m telling you this. You could be anyone.”

“Well, I am anyone.”

Arthur narrows his eyes at him and Merlin ducks his head, biting his lip not to smile.

“You could be a spy.”

“I could be,” Merlin says, shrugging. “But do you really think that?”

Arthur just sighs and gives a one-shouldered shrug.

“It’s what Morgana thinks, isn’t it?” Merlin can’t help but laugh a little. “Couldn’t you smell it if I belonged to someone, though?”

Arthur hums, leaning sideways until their shoulders bump. He’s warm against Merlin’s side as he turns his face into the crook of Merlin’s neck, taking a deep breath. Merlin forgets to breathe, his lungs burning for air as Arthur’s breath rushes over his skin.

When Arthur pulls pack, he looks at Merlin searchingly, his eyes wide. There’s something in his expression Merlin doesn’t understand.

“Alright?” Merlin asks, breathless.

“Yeah.”

“Okay.” Merlin bites his lip, worrying it between his teeth. “Your tea is cold.”

***

“You have a grocery list.” Merlin plucks it from underneath the magnet on the fridge, turning it over in his hand like it’s a rare treasure.

Arthur looks at him over his shoulder, eyebrows angled in an _are you shitting me_ kind of way that Merlin shouldn’t find quite as hilarious as he does.

“It just seems shockingly... normal,” he settles on, picking up a pen to scribble _weetabix_ at the bottom of the list.

“Well, if the grocery list blew your mind, you should check out our spreadsheet of chores.”

“Spreadsheet,” Merlin says flatly, feeling like at least half of his worldview is crashing down around him. “What, is Leon forcing everyone to be all organised and strict about communal living?” When Arthur’s eyes widen a little, Merlin flails a moment before he points at him delightedly. “It’s you!”

“Shut up,” Arthur says, leaning into his space to put the milk back as he actively avoids Merlin’s eyes. “Spreadsheets are the most organised and efficient way of dealing with things like this. They’re ordered. And easy.”

Merlin realises he’s smiling, his cheeks hurting a little with it, and it’s a little disconcerting, but he can’t stop because this is just _too good_.

“Is there a werewolf spreadsheet appreciation society? Oh! I bet other alphas call you for spreadsheet advice all the time. That Arthur, he really knows how to keep his pack up to speed on chores.”

Arthur looks at him with a flat expression, his lips pursing before he sighs. “Wow, Elena said you’d been coming out of your shell, but if this is you out of your shell, I’m pretty sure I’m pushing you back in and taping it shut.”

Merlin doesn’t say anything to that, because he suddenly realises that, yes, he’s probably talked more over the past couple of days than he has in weeks. He looks down at the grocery list in his hand, this mundane little thing that suddenly feels like it means so much more than it used to. He rubs his thumb over it, seeing _cucumbers_ written in Elena’s hasty scrawl.

“Come on,” Arthur says and Merlin looks up at him, picking out a slight scent of something as Arthur stops beside him. “Let’s go to the shops.”

“Does it say my name on the spreadsheet?”

“No, but you’re sure as hell going on bathroom duty next week.”

“Oh, come on,” Merlin yells at Arthur’s back, following out to grab his jacket.

In all honesty, Merlin had never really stopped to consider that being a werewolf might still involve so many aspects of humanity. It’s been so long since he did anything normal, he’d forgotten that he’s still a human being, really, in so many ways. Part of him had perhaps thought, at some point, that being a werewolf involved camping out in the woods while hunting rabbits and other unsuspecting wildlife for every meal.

And so it becomes a strange kind of relief to go grocery shopping with Arthur. It’s the way Arthur suddenly smiles and says “Morning, Mrs. Evans,” to the middle-aged lady by the oranges, and the way he looks at Merlin like he’s a pesky kid when he sneaks Kit Kats into the cart. This is the guy who growls people into submission, and yet here he is holding two different kinds of toilet paper in each hand, staring intently at the price with furrowed brows.

“Jesus, just pick one,” Merlin says, laughing as Arthur puts one back just to pick it back up again.

“No, _Mer_ lin, you don’t understand, this is a matter of life and death.”

“ _This_ is a matter of life and death.” Of all the things, really.

Arthur nods, pulling a face. “Morgana goes mental if I buy the wrong kind.”

“Oh lord, is she one of those toilet paper snobs?”

“Something about heightened –” Arthur looks around at the people next to him. “– _you know_ senses.”

“In her arse?”

They stare at eachother for a moment before a strange squeaky sound slips past Arthur’s lips and Merlin laughs too, not really sure if he’s laughing about Morgana’s odd toilet paper related preferences or Arthur’s un-alpha sounding giggles.

“Hey, listen,” Merlin says, once he’s pulled himself together. “Why don’t we pick this one? And then if Morgana really hates it, you can blame me. See, I’m the new guy! It’s always good to blame the new guy.”

“Very gracious of you to offer, Merlin, but...” Arthur trails off and drops one of the packets of toilet paper into the cart, “I was already going to do that anyway.”

“Charming.”

“Always.”

“Does being a dick come with the territory of being an alpha or is it just your own personal interpretation?” Merlin says and then stiffens, looking around at the people next to him. They seem thankfully unfazed by his word choice, but some of them do glare back at him when he looks at them for too long.

Arthur covers his laugh with a cough. “Hey, it just sounds like we’re in one of those American fraternities.”

“Oh god,” Merlin says, reaching for the pasta sauce. “The Alpha Beta Omegas.”

“Our hazing traditions are a little extreme.”

Merlin turns to see Arthur fighting a smile. He pushes Arthur and the cart towards the till, trying to ignore the way his hands are splayed out across Arthur’s back for a very brief moment.

“You know, you’re not as surly as you seemed when we first met,” Merlin says as he bends down to pick groceries out of the cart. “There’s a pretty significant improvement. Morgana, on the other hand, is pretty much a ‘what you see is what you get’ kind of deal.”

Arthur rolls his eyes. “It’s a little easier to be relaxed when I’m not worrying about you getting us all killed.”

“What? You must’ve realised pretty early that I wasn’t out to murder you guys.”

“Yeah,” Arthur says and then holds up the Milky Ways Merlin had snuck into the cart with a bemused expression. “But then I worried your uselessness would accidentally get us all killed.”

“Gee, _thanks_.”

Arthur grins as if he hadn’t just commented on Merlin’s ineptitude. “You’re very welcome, Merlin, it’s the least I can say.”

“Yeah, it’s literally the least you can say.” Merlin perks up a little. “Hey, you said worri _ed_.”

“Yeah, yeah. Don’t get all sentimental about it. You‘ve graduated from homicidal levels to vaguely harmful levels of uselessness.”

Merlin’s about to reply, but they’ve reached the till and the cashier rudely cuts him off with a cheerful “Hiya!” as she tucks her blonde hair behind her ear. She smiles brightly at Arthur, almost a little manically and Merlin raises his eyebrows at her. Well, then.

“Hi,” Arthur says back, looking a little perplexed too.

“I’ll just go... bag our things.” Merlin gives her an odd look as she continues to grin so widely at Arthur that he frankly thinks Arthur should be a little worried.

“You’re Arthur, right?” she says, her voice soft and sweet. She inclines her head a little, the hair slipping from behind her ear. “I’ve seen you around the store.”

“Uh, yes. I’m not really here that often,” Arthur says and throws Merlin a look that says ‘oh god, save me’, but Merlin doesn’t think he will, thank you very much. If Arthur thinks he’s useless, Merlin will show him useless. “Are you new?”

“Oh! Not really. Well, kind of? My friend Mary got me the job, but I’ve hung around here with her a lot cause she’s worked here since summer, so.”

“Ah, congrats,” Arthur says, waiting patiently for the chance to pay and get out of there.

Merlin tries not to laugh, ducking his head until all he can see is the contents of the bag he’s filling with no real system or purpose.

“So, do you live around here... since you shop here often?” When Merlin looks up the girl is literally holding their last item hostage as she stares at Arthur with expectant eyes.

“Yeah, in the area.” Arthur’s fingers are tightening around his wallet.

“That’s great. I mean, it’s a nice area. Do you live in one of those lovely buildings off of Station Road?”

Arthur’s jaw works as he just looks at her for a moment before grounding out a low, “No.”

“Oh, right. Well. I’m Sophia! Just. You know. Sophia.”

“Lovely to meet you, Sophia. Now, I would love to have my pasta sauce and then I’d very much like to pay.”

“Oh!” She looks down at the jar of sauce in her hand and laughs, sheepishly. “I’m so sorry. I’m such a chatterbox, my dad tells me I could talk death into submission if I wanted to.”

When Arthur finally gets to pay for their stuff, he takes the jar of pasta sauce in one hand and grabs Merlin’s sleeve with the other and they’re out of the store so fast Merlin barely manages to snatch their bags of groceries before he’s yanked along.

“Wow, you were really helpful in there, Merlin,” Arthur says bitingly, striding towards the bus stop with angry steps.

Merlin beams. “Decided to live up to my reputation of uselessness.”

“Jesus, did you smell that perfume on her?”

“Oh, that was her?” Merlin wrinkles his nose. “I thought it was the flower display.”

“Yeah, she smelled like a florist’s.”

Arthur sags back against the bus shed, looking a tiny bit less murderous.

“She just has a crush on you, you know.”

“Merlin? This is the right time for you to shut up.”

Merlin laughs until the bus comes and Arthur shoves him into the door when they try to get on at the same time.

***

“What do you think?”

Merlin jerks away from _whatever it is_ Arthur stuffs into his face, his nostrils flaring.

“Jesus, Arthur, why are you stuffing roadkill in my face?”

“It’s not roadkill,” Arthur says with the corner of his mouth upturned. “Just, what do you think?”

“What do I think _what_?” Merlin flails at him. “What do I think about that hanging on the living room wall? What do I think about having it for dinner? What do I think about you wearing it as a second skin?”

Gwaine barks out a laugh, ruffling Merlin’s hair roughly as he passes.

“Do you think it could belong to _it_?” Arthur says slowly as if speaking to a child.

Merlin takes a better look at the thing in Arthur’s hand and sees that it’s a red piece of fabric, muddy and definitely worse for wear. He tugs at one corner of it and it slides out of Arthur’s grip. Bringing it up to his face, Merlin takes a careful sniff and jerks his head away again, unable to stop the way his face pulls into a really, really disgusted grimace.

“It definitely smells really... wrong?” He can’t quite put his finger on it. “I don’t know if I’m the best to ask, Arthur, I don’t exactly know a lot about how to work with all of... this.” He waves a hand over himself. “But it smells really wrong? It could be.”

“Apparently someone from Mordred’s coven found it in the forest,” Arthur says and looks up at Gwaine who comes back in just as he speaks.

“Here, Gwaine,” Merlin says, jumping to his feet and sticking the piece of fabric in under his nose.

Gwaine flails and pushes at it, gagging. “Oh my god, I hate you guys.”

“Oh, grow a pair,” Merlin says. “You know better than me, anyway. Arthur why didn’t you stick this in his face to begin with?”

Arthur gives a beatific smile. “I like bothering you.”

“That thing smells foul.” Gwaine gives it a weary look. “It’s definitely not connected to anything human, but it doesn’t smell like anything I’ve ever come across.”

Merlin holds the fabric limply, as far away from himself as he can, but the smell still stings and he scrunches up his nose. “Who’s Mordred anyway?”

“Friend of Morgana’s,” Arthur says and as he says her name, his face hardens and his gaze flits around the room.

“She’s doing laundry with Elena and Leon. As per the list.” Merlin still hasn’t gotten over that, to be honest.

He’s interrupted by a loud groan. “I can’t deal with that thing, give it here.” Gwaine rips the fabric out of his hand and nearly sprints to the front door.

“Don’t throw it away!” Arthur yells after him. “We might need it.”

“I’m not an idiot, Arthur!”

“Not so sure about that.”

Sitting down onto the armrest of the chair nearby, Merlin looks at Arthur searchingly and he doesn’t really like the way Arthur looks angry and withdrawn. It’s not really him. It feels weird to say that after such a short time, but after the initial tension, Merlin knows what Arthur’s like – he’s stupidly noble and impulsive, protective to a fault. But he’s also quick to smile and tease, never turning down a bonding night with the pack unless it interferes with something important.

Something about Morgana brings out something in Arthur that Merlin wants to erase from existence.

Merlin gives a sad smile, shrugging a little as he looks up at Arthur and says, “Have you tried talking to her?”

The look he gets in return is so unimpressed that he nearly laughs. “Where exactly have you been lately?”

“No, I mean, not as a werewolf or her alpha,” Merlin says quickly, folding his arms over his stomach. “Just as friends. I mean, my general feeling is that you guys weren’t born werewolves, so something obviously went down.”

“We’ve, yeah, I mean, we’ve – we’ve...”

Arthur looks lost, his face softening as he looks down at his fingers.

“I’m just going to go ahead and take that as a no,” Merlin says dryly. “Maybe you should consider it sometime.”

“What am I supposed to say?” Arthur shrugs. “She doesn’t think I can handle being alpha.”

“How do you know? Has she said that?”

Arthur scoffs. “She doesn’t have to.”

“She kinda does. Maybe she’s just scared. Maybe it’s not about _you_ at all.”

The muscles in Arthur’s neck strain as he looks in the opposite direction, his jaw tightening as he grits his teeth. Merlin kind of wants to reach out and smooth down the tension in his face, but it might not be received entirely well, all things considered.

“Did Gwaine marry that piece of fabric?” Arthur says, voice gruff.

Merlin runs to the door and comes to a stop right outside.

“What the _fuck_ ,” Arthur says and Merlin just stares.

“It’s raining!” Gwaine says gleefully from where he’s running from puddle to puddle, his clothes clinging to his body as he moves, swift and easy, under the steady downpour.

Arthur opens his mouth and closes it again. “I can tell.”

The air smells fresh and clean, almost like spring even though it’s edging into autumn now, and Merlin takes a deep breath before leaping out into the rain, soaking him to the bone within seconds.

Gwaine grins at him, stomping his foot so hard in a nearby puddle that it hits Merlin’s legs like a very small tidal wave.

“I’m going to need an actual babysitter,” Arthur says, long-suffering.

“Oh, come on!” Gwaine sprints under the rain, shaking his hair out of his eyes.

Merlin laughs, running after him, loving the way he can run and run without his lungs starting to burn with the lack of oxygen in his system. It’s nice to stretch and run like this, like nothing else matters. He looks up just in time to catch sight of Arthur’s hair for a split second before he’s tackled into a puddle so hard that the water comes up like a wall around them and cascades over them both.

“Wanker,” Merlin gasps between his bursts of laughter.

***

“We’re going,” Arthur says when everyone’s lounging around having breakfast.

Morgana is the only one who doesn’t look up in surprise. Elena’s piece of toast has stopped halfway to her mouth and strawberry jam drops down onto her plate as she stares at Arthur.

“What?” Merlin says around his weetabix and Morgana looks at him with a disdainful, “Ew.”

He just makes a face at her as Arthur says, “Morgana’s talked to Mordred again and the activity in the forest is definitely picking up.”

“And they don’t know what it is either?” Gwaine asks, pushing Elena’s hair out of his plate.

They have this thing about getting extremely touchy to the point where Merlin had, at first, wondered if anything was going on between them, but if there actually is anything, it’s all very casual at least. Elena is currently sitting between Gwaine’s legs, leaning back against his chest and it seems like a thoroughly impractical way of having breakfast, really.

“Not as such. They’ve put up wards and it doesn’t seem to help.”

Leon leans over, his arms resting on his thighs. “So that means that whatever we’re looking for is magic in some way too.”

“Seems like it,” Arthur says just as Merlin exclaims, “Wait, magic?”

Laughing, Elena punches him lightly in the arm. “You think werewolves and hydras are real, but not magic?”

“Okay, for one -” Merlin holds up a finger. “- No one told me about the hydra until Gwaine decided it was story time, oh my god? Secondly, you said the minotaur _wasn’t_ real. Is there some sort of list you guys are withholding?”

“Yes, there’s a list, Merlin, that we’re hiding from you because we want everything to be like one big surprise party.” Arthur gives him a look..

“I knew it.”

“Back to the the whole ‘we’re going’ thing, as fascinating as this is,” Gwaine says, giving Arthur and Merlin a significant look. “Elaborate.”

Morgana shrugs. “Mordred’s sensed some really strange energy in there, and it’s especially bad at night, apparently. It doesn’t seem to react to wards and unless they find out what it is, specifically, they can’t do anything else. They worry whatever it is might spread into the city and so I deci – we decided –” She looks at Arthur out of the corner of her eye. “– that we need to try and face this before it goes any further.”

“Get your fake fangs and your detachable fur.” Arthur gets to his feet. “And let’s do this.”

“Wow, that’s the worst joke I’ve ever heard,” Gwaine says, looking over at Merlin who can’t stop laughing, his face scrunching up in amusement.

Morgana looks at Merlin, her lips pursing in an effort to not smile, it seems. “Wow,” she says flatly before stepping around Arthur, her hand resting on his upper arm as she passes. “I’m not even gonna say it.”

“Say what?” Arthur yells after her and Morgana’s laughter rings out in response.

Everyone gets dressed quickly and Merlin is the first one ready, waiting by the door for the others to show up. Outside the rain is still pouring as it has for days on end and he wrinkles his nose, not really looking forward to the whole wet forest thing. They’re all going to smell like wet dog.

And no thank you.

“You did actually mean that I can come this time, right?” he says when Arthur comes up to the door with his jacket pulled tight around him.

Arthur purses his lips and tilts his head a little as he thinks in a very, very exaggerated manner. It almost hurts to suppress his eye roll. “What’s in it for me?”

“Scapegoat if things go to hell?”

“I suppose you’ll do,” Arthur says haughtily and pulls up the collar on his coat.

“Oh my god,” Merlin says and reaches out to pull it down. “Don’t do that, you look like an arsehole.”

Of course, since Merlin’s luck is what it is, that’s exactly when the rest of them show up and Elena beams like someone just handed her the stars while Gwaine looks like he’s quickly going through his catalogue of terrible jokes to pick just the right one for the joyous occasion.

Thankfully, Arthur chooses that moment to say, “Shut up” and none of them say a word as they head out the door in a single file.

Merlin had been right about the wetness. It’s absolutely terrible. But then he recently spent hours playing in puddles voluntarily, so he may not have much to say all things considered.

“Alright, we’ll spread out into groups,” Arthur says when they’re standing in the clearing and the trees give at least a little shelter from the rain. “What we have to do is spread out and figure out if we can find out what this is. If we come head to head with it, then so be it. Call out for the rest if you do and we’ll come for you.”

He looks at Morgana out of the corner of his eyes. “Don’t try to do it alone.”

“Your suspicion is disheartening.”

“In fact, I think you should go with me, Morgana.”

“Swell.”

“Hey.”

“No, I’m really psyched, Arthur. So excited.”

He narrows his eyes at her and she stares back. The rest of them let out a heavy groan, sharing a series of “oh god, why”-looks between them.

“Elena and Gwaine you head off in that direction,” Arthur says and on cue, the two of them shift.

Merlin still isn’t quite used to how much more intimidating Elena looks. Gwaine, on the other hand, somehow manages to look more cuddly.

“Leon, you take care of Merlin.”

“Hey.”

“ _Mer_ lin,” Arthur says, ignoring his protests. “Your primary goal is to not die.”

“Wow, vote of confidence.”

Arthur ignores him and turns to Leon. “You guys stay in this area, don’t go too far in.”

The forest is quiet when the other two groups head off in different directions and Merlin can hear them for a while. For a moment he thinks he picks up his own name, but he’s still struggling a little with shifting at will and he has to dig deep before he feels the disorienting way his bones shift and strain under his skin.

Everything is vivid around him, almost too much so. The sounds of the forest are loud and he shakes head, trying to clear the strange haze.

“We should circle the area,” Leon suggests as Merlin rolls the tension out of his neck. “That way we can come back here periodically and Arthur can pick up our trail.”

They run because they can. Merlin follows behind Leon, careful to keep him in his line of sight the entire time as his feet dig into the muddy soil, ducking away from the branches. He tries to keep his senses sharp, searching for anything that feels out of place, but mostly all he can sense is Leon ahead of him – the sound of his feet on the ground and the way he smells of pack.

Sometimes they pass the same spot in the clearing where Merlin can still see their footprints leading into different directions and he wonders where the others are and if he could really hear them if they needed help. It feels a little helpless, but at the same time he has no choice but to trust that Leon knows a little bit more about this than he does

It’s more difficult to control his body, for some reason. It’s like it won’t quite listen to him and would rather do something else entirely. He whines softly, stumbling a little.

“Stop being miserable,” Leon says over his shoulder.

”What? I’m not _miserable_.”

He can’t see Leon’s face, but he’s pretty sure that if he could, Leon would be looking really unimpressed. Even the back of his head looks kind of unimpressed right now.

“It’s just the full moon messing with you,” Leon says and Merlin nearly stops in his tracks. “It’s only a couple of days away.”

Merlin hadn’t noticed. He had kept track meticulously between his first and second full moon because his first had been what nightmares are made of, but ever since the thing with the hunters, he’d been too focused on everything else.

He doesn’t know whether he should be relieved or worried that the moon is what affects his senses right now.

It feels like they run for hours, soaked to the bone, but never quite tired either. He can feel the movements and the way his body hasn’t been standing still properly for ages, but it doesn’t tire – not the same way his human body would. Again, that thought gives him a feeling of somewhat elated freedom, like he’s transcended the laws of physics and can run until he doesn’t want to run anymore, even with the mud streaking up his sweats in thick, crusted lines.

It’s only a small change at first. The scent is what he notices. It doesn’t smell like forest and pack anymore, there’s something else. It’s too sharp in his nose, making him light-headed. But it’s not quite the same as the foul smell from the fabric. His step falters a little and he leans against a tree, breathing a little heavier than before.

“Leon!” he hisses, knowing Leon can hear him even though he’s quite a bit ahead now. “Leon, there’s something–” He stops, picking up the sound of unfamiliar voices. “Shit, Leon.”

Leon comes sprinting back towards him just as Merlin thinks there’s something awfully familiar about that smell in the air. Meeting Leon’s eyes, he stands completely still for a moment before Leon fumbles for his arm and drags him forwards, swearing under his breath.

“Shit,” Leon whispers, pulling them further into the forest.

“What is it?”

“It smells like wolfsbane,” Leon says, quietly, but loud enough for Merlin to pick up loud and clear.

“Fuck, is it hunters?”

Merlin looks back, trying to judge whether they’re moving further away from them or not. He has no idea. He can’t see them, but then he couldn’t see them earlier either.

“I think so.”

“Should we call for the others?”

“No,” Leon says, jumping over a large rock in their path and Merlin clears it too, using his hand to push himself over. It’s cold and it cuts into his palm, but it’ll heal. “The hunters will hear us, it’s better if we’re quiet.”

Merlin doesn’t know how (he assumes being a hunter comes with some kind of technique or special equipment), but suddenly there’s a group of hunters right in front of them, coming out of the trees from their right and Merlin stumbles over a root in surprise, only keeping himself upright because Leon is physically dragging him along.

“Run.” Leon turns to look at him and the usually stoic face is twisted in urgent panic. Merlin’s pulse picks up, unable to sort one thing from another as they race through the trees.

He does hear the shouting from behind them, still loud and raucous in his head, even as they try to find their way through the woods. Merlin doesn’t know where they’re going or if they’re just running on instincts. His senses are jumbled in his head and he can’t quite disentangle them. They’re heightened and sharper, but they run together and the wires cross.

One second, the sounds seem far away and the next it sounds like someone is panting in his ear. It’s disorienting and he stumbles, too unsteady on his feet to run straight without hitting his shoulder against a tree or trip over a root. He slips on a slippery rock, losing his footing a little and struggles to catch up with Leon again.

The pain is instantaneous and blinding. He knows this pain. He’s felt it before and he had never wanted to feel it again. A howl of pain claws out of his throat as he sags against Leon’s back, squeezing his eyes shut against the terrible feeling.

“Oh, fuck,” Leon says as he stops, looking back over his shoulder. “ _Shit_.”

Merlin looks down and _yep_ , shit sounds about right.

“There’s an arrow in my leg,” he says, his head feeling foggy and not quite put on right.

“Yeah, mate. There really is an arrow in your leg.” Leon bends down and slips his arm around his waist to hold him up. “I’m sorry, but we need to move. It’s gonna hurt, but being hit by another will be a lot worse.”

Another loud yelp of pain escapes him as he clings to Leon, trying to put as much of his weight on him as possible so he doesn’t have to put too much of it on his injured leg. They try to change course and get the hunters off their track, but Merlin really doesn’t know if it’s working. At least there’s not an arrow in his other leg yet.

“There’s wolfsbane in this,” he says as the realisation hits him in time with the smell and the familiar nausea.

“Yeah. There is.”

“Leon. Leon, come on. You know what you have to do.”

“No,” Leon says, cutting him off before he can say anything else. “Not only will I never abandon pack, but I would like to keep my throat out of Arthur’s teeth.”

“I’m not pack,” Merlin protests, whimpering as his leg hits the side of a rock. “Just... they’ll get you too.”

“You keep telling yourself that,” Leon says. “Maybe you think you’re still planning on leaving, but you’ve weaved yourself into the foundation of this pack and you smell like us.”

“Leon,” he begs, sagging under the pain. “Leon, come on.”

As Leon is about to answer, they both stop. There are voices within hearing range again and Merlin falls down onto his knees in the mud, looking up at Leon from under the hair falling into his eyes.

“Go,” he says, giving a shaky exhale. “I’m not pack. I’m leaving. Soon. When I know enough.”

Leon kneels down next to him and catches his gaze, following it when Merlin tries to look away.

“If you aren’t pack and you’re going to leave, why are you sacrificing yourself for me?” Leon says. “We have hardly been friends since you got here. We’ve barely talked.”

Merlin shakes under the cold in his bones and closes his eyes. God, it hurts. It hurts _everywhere_ , like an ice-cold fire burning out from the place where the arrow sticks out of his skin.

“Fine!” He says, voice shaky. “I don’t wanna leave. I don’t... I can’t... I feel like I belong, I–”

There’s a howl so loud it vibrates through Merlin’s body and he throws his head back, howling in response without even thinking about it. He clamps his mouth shut, knowing he just attracted every hunter within hearing distance, but Leon’s howling too and he realises they can’t _not_ because it’s Arthur calling for them.

Answering howls echo through the woods and Merlin meets Leon’s eyes, knowing they can’t really do anything but wait. Whoever reaches them first: hunters or wolves, there’s really nothing to do but wait.

“You’re not so bad,” Merlin says, the chattering of his teeth making it sound more pathetic and less playful than he intended.

Leon smiles, a crooked smile that seems almost a little strange on his usually serious face. “You’re not all that bad yourself, all things considered.”

The sound of approaching footsteps make both of them turn their heads against the rustling of the leaves and Merlin digs his fingers into the earth, swallowing against the hurt that threatens to consume everything in his entire body.

“Arthur, thank fuck,” Leon says when Morgana and Arthur come tearing through the branches. “There are hunters, we don’t know where.”

Morgana’s eyes are wide on her pale face and she whips around, looking into the depth of the trees.

“Shit, shit, shit,” Arthur chants as he falls to his knees next to Merlin. “Shit, I heard you howling, but I didn’t know...”

“Leon, that stubborn arsehole wouldn’t leave me,” Merlin says and doesn’t miss the approving look Arthur sends Leon at that before his hand carefully circles the arrow.

“Morgana, are you keeping watch?” Arthur asks without looking up and when she gives an affirmative he takes a deep breath, twice and then another.

He holds Merlin’s gaze, his other hand coming to rest on his shoulder. “Merlin, I need to pull this arrow out.”

Well, fuck.

Merlin closes his eyes and takes another shuddering breath. “Do it.”

The indescribable pain and Arthur’s hand on his shoulder, grounding him as he writhes, is the last thing he feels before he blacks out.

***

His mouth tastes like ash, dry and papery, his tongue sticking to the roof of his mouth. He groans, disoriented and a little confused. Why does it feel like he just went on a five-day drinking binge? And then he remembers the arrow lodged in his leg and the way the mud was seeping into his sweats as he stood on all fours on the forest floor, dying from the wolfsbane in his system.

He sits upright so fast his head spins, clutching his leg frantically until he realises the arrow is no longer there. Instead, his fingers dip into a little hollow that feels raw and strange to the touch. Opening his eyes carefully, the room is thankfully dimly lit and it takes a little moment before he realises he’s in his own room, spread out on the mattress. It’s not his mattress, though. His had been decidedly lumpier than this. Not to mention thinner.

He’s twisted himself in his sheets, his hurt leg lying on top of the covers and he can see the wolfsbane-laced wound that looks really, really disgusting. But he doesn’t feel like he’s dying anymore, so something must have happened while he was out.

Flopping back onto the mattress with a groan, he really misses having a bed for once, despite the mysterious upgrade.

The urge to get to the bathroom outweighs the fear of finding out whether or not his leg stays on when he tries to step on it, and he pushes himself up on wobbly knees, barely making it down the hall to the bathroom with the stalls. Charms of an old office building, clearly.

Merlin dearly misses a house, although he’s been very graciously quiet about this ever since he came here. Maybe because he always operated under the delusion that he was going to leave, but the bits of conversation he remembers having with Leon last night kind of seals the fact that he’s probably not leaving anytime soon.

His leg throbs painfully as he hobbles as quickly as he can to get back into bed. It makes him hiss just as he hits down at an awkward angle and he hops into his room, limping towards the bed just to find Arthur standing next to it with his Scary Alpha face on. Merlin has dubbed it that, mostly because it’s highly accurate.

“Why are you out of bed?” Arthur says, his brows furrowed. “You shouldn’t be.”

Merlin gives him a look as he rolls back onto the mattress, groaning in relief as the throbbing lessens just a little. “Since I’m still alive, the bodily functions have sadly kept going.”

“That’s not at all funny.”

“I’m not trying to be funny,” Merlin says, stretching out and relaxing his muscles slowly. “I’m just stating facts.”

When Arthur doesn’t say anything, Merlin looks up with eyebrows raised in question. Arthur’s face is pinched and tense, his cheekbones almost impossibly sharp in the dim lighting. There’s a hardness in the set of his jaw and he looks away, his eyes settling on something other than Merlin.

“You nearly _died_.” His Adam’s apple moves as he swallows.

“Okay, well, that’s bad,” Merlin says, placating. “But I’m not now, see?” He waves a hand vaguely in the direction of his leg before he stops, pauses and makes a face. “I’m... not, right? Because that would be awkward since I just celebrated my survival a little prematurely.”

A weird choking sound comes from Arthur’s throat and he rolls his eyes, sitting down at the foot of the mattress. “Stop making me laugh, Merlin, this wasn’t how this was supposed to go.”

“Uh, was this supposed to go a specific way?” Merlin asks, raising his eyebrows. “Did it include me in my underwear with a hole in my leg? Because that’s kind of what you’re getting, plans or no plans.”

Arthur glares at him – or, well. He tries to and then it dissolves into a soft expression, his mouth upturned in a smile that’s so small it’s almost a secret.

Merlin barely manages to not jump in surprise when Arthur’s hand settles softly on his ankle, fingers splaying out across his skin and moving slowly until the tip of his index finger grazes the wound.

“It’s not a hole,” Arthur says, his smile widening. “It’s barely even a dent. Are you trying to take advantage of my sympathies?”

“Oh, so it’s only serious if the wolfsbane arrow goes _right through_ someone.” Merlin leans up on his elbow, looking at Arthur with a roll of his eyes. “I see how it is.”

Arthur looks vaguely ill then and Merlin bites his lip, suddenly feeling guilty for making light of all this when it’s obviously been bad. He didn’t even have to be there for it, so he doesn’t know how bad exactly, but judging by the crease in Arthur’s brow it must have been worrying at the very least.

“Hey,” Merlin says, because he doesn’t quite know what else to say. Because ‘Stop looking like it means something that I’m alive’ and ‘Thanks for that, by the way’ seem like bad alternatives.

The feeling of Arthur’s thumb running softly over unmarred skin is making him pliant and a little woozy and he relaxes into it.

“Hey,” Arthur says quietly, his face splitting into a wide smile that punches Merlin’s breath out of his chest.

Arthur leans forwards, pressing warm, soft lips to Merlin’s knee. At first it’s just a brief ghost of a kiss, before he pauses for a moment and then mouths against the skin, wet and warm and perfect. Merlin’s elbow slips out from under him and he falls back onto his back, exhaling shakily against the feeling of Arthur’s brief, careful kisses. It’s unexpected – hell, it’s fucking crazy, is what it is, that _Arthur_ is mouthing over his skin like it’s precious to him.

But if he thinks about it, it’s not that surprising, is it? He can see, looking back, how things have changed faster than he’s been willing to acknowledge. It’s not the same guarded, uncertain truce that they’d had at first. Now there are fleeting touches to Merlin’s shoulder and a hand against his back and it feels as natural as anything. Arthur has started listening to him and Merlin has started to trust him, somehow.

Maybe he should have known it would arrive at this, but up until yesterday he’d been planning to leave. Getting in too deep would have been stupid of him. But now that he knows he’s staying, the denial is crumbling away under his feet.

Turning his head to the side, he arches his neck a little until he sees Arthur rest his cheek against his knee, eyes meeting Merlin’s with an uncertain quirk of his lips.

“Would you still like me if I’d had to get a pegleg?” Merlin blurts and Arthur laughs helplessly into the bend of his knee, breath tickling on the underside of Merlin’s thigh.

“Oh my god.”

Merlin feels like maybe he should say something else, but there’s something about the way Arthur turns his cheek into Merlin’s leg, nosing at the back of his knee that makes the words crumble on Merlin’s tongue. Instead he just looks, his pulse beating too loud in his ears as Arthur meets his gaze.

When Arthur takes a deep breath and then another, his eyes flashing red, Merlin’s heart stutters and he _knows_ Arthur heard it because why else would he grin like that. Merlin, on the other hand, can’t figure out if the heartbeat he’s hearing is Arthur’s or if it’s just his own beating so loudly he can’t hear anything else.

He can’t quite look away from Arthur and the way his eyes are still red and unnaturally bright. There’s something radiating from him that makes Merlin’s skin prickle in response, the wolf in him stretching and curling in satisfaction. He’s unable to recognise it for a moment, only able to feel the way he responds to it. And when he does realise that what is nearly spilling out of Arthur is _possessiveness_ , he let’s out an involuntary moan, biting down on his bottom lip to muffle it.

Arthur has crawled along his body before Merlin even finds the time to feel ashamed, pinning him to the mattress, but careful to put no pressure on his still injured leg. His face is so close that Merlin gets lost looking at it for a moment, his eyes lingering on the bow of his lips and the way his eyelashes brush against his skin. Merlin swallows and lets his hands rest softly against Arthur’s sides, his touch hesitant as if pressing too hard will make Arthur realise what he’s doing.

Merlin doesn’t actually know what they’re doing. Or, well, he does, but maybe he feels less in control because it’s all happening so fast. It’s not like he’s been unaware of how he’s become so much more at ease with Arthur. He’s also been uncomfortably aware of the instincts to throw himself in harm’s way for Arthur if it came to that, but there’s been no time to think about it. All of these things between him and Arthur have just become these little facts of his new life, something steady and indisputable and too dangerous to really linger on.

Arthur’s arms bracket his face, his elbows pressed into the mattress as he buries his hand into Merlin’s hair, stroking gently for just a moment. Then he tugs at it, pulling Merlin’s head back until his throat is bared and his lips parted, and _god_ , Arthur groans needily, dipping down to press their lips together, open and urgent.

Shit. Merlin doesn’t know if it’s the fact that he hasn’t really kissed anyone in a while, if it’s his new werewolf-heightened senses or if it’s just Arthur, but he’s a little drunk with it just from the first insistent push of Arthur’s lips, the slight prickle in his scalp and the expansion of Arthur’s lungs under his fingers.

He’s greedy, opening his mouth into the kiss until he finds Arthur’s tongue, the taste of him making his head cloud over until he feels nearly disconnected from the world outside Arthur’s insistent mouth.

When Arthur breaks the kiss and noses along his jaw before burying his face into Merlin’s neck, he bites his swollen lip against the sounds in his throat, his fingers flexing against Arthur’s back.

“What is this?” he asks, his voice breaking as Arthur inhales deeply, his breath rushing across Merlin’s neck leaving little shivers in its wake.

“It’s not an alpha thing,” Arthur says, his lips brushing a spot under Merlin’s jaw. “I’m not... I’m not asking for this as an alpha, you know that, right?”

Merlin hadn’t known that, but he hadn’t really considered it at all, either, so he says, “Yeah,” and threads his fingers into the hair at the nape of Arthur’s neck. “Is it a you thing?”

“No.” Arthur’s currently human teeth graze across the spot where his pulse beats rapidly. “It’s a you thing.”

Merlin can’t help it: he laughs, his chest vibrating with it, expanding and contracting under Arthur’s weight. “But I’m a useless pup.”

“Yeah.”

“I’m annoying. You always point that out.”

“You really are.” Arthur licks at his collarbone, a satisfied moan rumbling in his throat that makes Merlin sink back into the mattress with a rush of _fuck yes_ seeping into every part of him.

He gives a wobbly laugh again, trying to sound more unaffected than he really is. “Hey, I’m just a useless omega too, so this is looking like a bad deal for you.”

Arthur pauses, his lips lingering on Merlin’s skin before he inhales, his chest pressing them closer with every breath. Merlin’s eyes widen when Arthur keens and goes almost boneless above him, nose pressed into the base of his neck.

“No, you haven’t been an omega a while,” Arthur says. “You’re ours: our beta.” He pauses and rubs his cheek against the sensitive skin of Merlin’s neck. “Mine.”

“Oh.” Merlin knows, of course he knows, how could he not really know after the whole thing yesterday, but hearing it like this is something else and he knows his heart speeds up.

“Hey,” Arthur says quickly, lifting his head with obvious reluctance. “You know I don’t mean... I’d never make you stay against your will. It’s your choice, you’re never obligated to...”

“Shut up, god, do you think I’d still be here if I didn’t want to,” Merlin says, and as if it’s not already blindingly obvious what’s going on, he hitches his hips slightly, rubbing against Arthur’s thigh.

Merlin bites down on his bottom lip, burying his face against Arthur’s chest, his cheeks heating a little because really, did he have to be all shameless about it?

“Fucking hell,” Arthur says, pulling Merlin’s head back until he can kiss him again, deep and a little too eager. “I was going to send you off, you know. I was. You don’t ever listen to me and you don’t –”

“Oh for fuck’s sake, shut up,” Merlin mutters, surging up to kiss him again because what’s with the talking when they could be doing the kissing.

Arthur pulls back again, saying, “See, see, this exactly,” before nuzzling against his cheek. “You don’t listen, and you don’t obey, except you kind of do, don’t you?” Merlin can feel the smile against his skin. Arthur shifts a little to the side, leaning on his one arm as he brings the other down across Merlin’s chest. It curls over his ribs, possessive and gentle at once. “If I asked you to do something for me, you would, wouldn’t you?”

Merlin looks at him, giving a shuddering breath as he wonders why the question makes him feel raw and exposed. Maybe it’s because, yes, yes he would. He doesn’t answer, closing his eyes, but he knows he doesn’t need to because it was probably the most rhetorical question in the universe.

He knows Arthur is smiling, can feel it in the air around them like it has a presence.

“So now,” Arthur says, his hand stroking gently along Merlin’s side and Merlin hears a heart skip, knowing it’s not his own, “now, I’m telling you to sleep because you need it.”

And with that he’s gone and Merlin sits up abruptly. “What?”

Arthur’s already on his feet by the mattress, grinning with satisfaction and Merlin wants to throw things at that stupid grinning, kiss-swollen mouth.

“Sleep.” Arthur beams at him as if he’s won some kind of game before he pops out the door without as much as a backward glance.

But, really, the joke’s on him because Merlin can pick out his heartbeat now, just barely. He hears it outside, so he wraps a hand around his painfully hard cock and makes sure to moan Arthur’s name as obscenely as he can when he comes.

Merlin listens to Arthur’s racing heartbeat with a crooked grin.

***

“We’re all out of literally _everything_ ,” Elena says, face falling, when he comes into the kitchen. “I was going to make you breakfast. A proper wolfsbane-hangover breakfast with all sorts of fatty things.”

Merlin’s stomach turns a little just at the suggestion.

“I’m heartbroken,” he says, patting her shoulder fleetingly as he moves past her to get to the tea.

“Scoff all you like, it’d do you wonders.” She frowns at the contents of the fridge. “How are you feeling anyway?”

“Pretty good, actually. My leg’s all but healed and my head doesn’t feel like it’s about to fall off.”

“Yeah, I mean, at least once the wolfsbane is counteracted by the ash it gets out of your system pretty fast.” When she sees Merlin’s questioning look, she shrugs. “The only way to cure the effects of wolfsbane is to burn that exact type of wolfsbane and use the ash from it.”

“Thank god you guys had that stuff.” Merlin blows across the surface of his tea, wrapping his hand around the mug.

“Yeah, we found traces of the oil they’d made on the arrow,” Elena says. “It was really lucky.”

Merlin really doesn’t want to think about how much more damage the wolfsbane could have done. The silence stretches as he looks down, wondering why the hunters really want to cause them that much pain.

“I hope Arthur didn’t mess you up yesterday,” she says after a moment and Merlin’s eyes widen as he nearly chokes on his tea.

“What?”

“I mean, I don’t always know how he’s going to react to these things. I considered trying to step in when he wanted to be all protective alpha over you.”

“Uhm, he was fine.” Really, really _fine_.

“Mmm, good. And, hey, look on the bright side, you were completely out of it through the full moon. And I guess that’s why Arthur went all protective alpha in the first place.”

Merlin counts the days on the calendar stuck to the fridge. So he’d been out for two days, then. Part of him is kind of relieved that he’d been knocked out, considering how terrible the full moons have been before. But it’s only a month until the next one and the thought settles heavy in his stomach. Arthur will probably attempt to help, but it still makes him uneasy.

He also tries to keep every single thought he has ever had about Arthur under control, because he doesn’t even know how much Elena might manage to read from him with her damn werewolf senses.

Thankfully, she doesn’t seem to be reading anything, and if she does she’s hiding it well.

“I swear to god, who’s on grocery duty this week?” Elena asks, peering into the pantry.

Looking up at the spreadsheet taped to the wall next to the cupboards, Merlin snorts into his cup, hot tea spilling out over his hand. “You.” He shakes his hand quickly, wiping it on his jeans.

“Oh, bollocks.”

“Come on, I’ll go with you,” Merlin says, dumping the rest of his tea in the sink.

“No, Christ, I’ll go alone. You need to relax.”

He makes a face at her. “Please stop. I’ve already got enough mollycoddling from Arthur, thanks. I feel fine.” He tries to ignore the way his brain gets stuck on Arthur’s name. She looks doubtful, so he presses on, “I really need to get out of the house, please don’t make me stay. Arthur will wake soon and force me to go back to bed.”

“Fine!” She rolls her eyes before getting out the jar where they keep the communal grocery money. Not that Merlin even understands where it comes from, since none of them work.

It begins to dawn on him that he may have joined a life of crime.

“Don’t blame me when you get chewed out, though.”

“I can face the big bad wolf.” He tries to hold back a grin.

“Gwaine, get out of Merlin’s brain.”

Merlin keeps showing her exactly how many terrible jokes he’s learned from Gwaine as they make their way to the shops. It makes Elena hold a long speech about how she liked Merlin much better when he first arrived and was untainted by the rest of the pack.

“Do I really feel like pack to you?” he asks when they’re in the vegetable section, loading up on the obligatory healthy stuff before they go to rampage the sweets.

She stops for a moment, a smile spreading across her lips. “Yeah. It didn’t really take that long, actually. I think you were pretty much made for us, creepy psychic bond with Gwaine’s terrible sense of humour and all.”

“I just... I didn’t really realise it’d happened, I guess.”

“It’s easy to pick up on when you know what to look for.” She pushes the cart ahead of them to get to the salads. “You just didn’t know the signs, but you can feel it now, right?”

Merlin does, or at least he thinks he does. “I didn’t really think it could just happen like this, though. I mean, I thought I’d make a choice, you know – hey, don’t buy those, Arthur hates them.”

“Well, Arthur’s not the only person in the pack, so he’ll just have to put on his big boy pants.”

“You can’t say that,” Merlin says, laughing anyway.

“Is he here?” Elena raises an eyebrow at him in challenge, grinning crookedly. “Besides, I’d say it anyway.”

“Of course you would.”

“Here, do you think this is enough?” She holds out a bag of apples absentmindedly, her eyes scanning the rest of the vegetables with a finger tapping against her lips.

“Probably fine.”

She hums, moving further into the shop. “I just think Arthur doesn’t understand that respect isn’t really about what you say. Words can be empty and hollow - totally useless really. I could address him as respectfully as anything and then turn around to do the exact opposite.”

“Do you think he doesn’t get that?” Merlin asks, following behind.

“I mean, maybe he does. But I think he’s too afraid of losing the semblance of control he’s got to really make the pack steady, you know?”

Merlin hums. Elena might be right, at least partly, but he does think Arthur is more aware of this than she might think. “Isn’t this some sort of treason? I should be worried, shouldn’t I.”

Elena laughs, bright and loud. “If there was such a thing as treason, I think we’d all be well fucked.”

Merlin laughs too, secretly a little relieved that there _is_ no such thing, because how would he even know? The laughter dies in his throat as both of them startle when they all but bump into a shop clerk.

“Oh, Jesus,” Elena says, pressing a hand to her chest. “I’m so sorry!”

It takes a few seconds before Merlin recognises her, but it’s definitely the same clerk that had been ringing them up when he’d been shopping with Arthur. At the time, she’d been unbelievably chatty, but now she just stares at them, her mouth set in a thin line.

“Really,” Elena says, insistently. “Sorry.”

Merlin grabs the cart and pulls them away, using one hand to drag Elena along by the sleeve of her jacket.

“What’s with her?” Elena looks over her shoulder, her brows furrowed.

“I have no idea. She seemed really into Arthur the last time we were here. Maybe she thinks we’re all in a really happy polyamorous relationship.”

Elena wrinkles her nose at him. “I’ll pass. Also, did she bathe in her perfume today?”

“Probably wants to join our happy threesome,” Merlin says, and Elena swats at his shoulder before heading over to the sweets to argue about whether they want mars bars or twix.

“Listen,” Elena says when they’re making their way back to the house (and Merlin uses that term loosely), “What you said about choice?”

Furrowing his brow in confusion, Merlin looks at her out of the corner of his eyes. “What did I say about choice?”

“How you thought you’d make a choice about being pack.”

“Well, yeah.” Merlin shrugs a little, tilting his head upwards as they walk. “I guess I thought I would.”

She smiles at him, her eyes going soft. “Didn’t you, though? You chose to stay, you chose to stay loyal to us, you chose to respect Arthur as the alpha of our pack, and I think if you really think about it, you started respecting him as yours too.”

It’s stopped raining, he notices. He also notices that he’s been oblivious to a really horrifying amount of things in his life.

***

“You’re screwed,” Elena says the moment they’ve made it inside, and yes, the distress is basically dripping from the ceiling.

The hair on the back of his neck stands up and he sees Elena try to shake off the feeling too, her face pulled into an unhappy grimace.

“In hindsight,” she says as heavy footsteps move down the stairs, “we probably should have left a note.”

Merlin looks at her pleadingly, but she slinks away with the grocery bags as Arthur stops right in below the stairs, his face slightly unnerving in its stillness.

“Hi!” Merlin says cheerfully, trying not to wince. This might be a bad tactic.

Arthur raises an eyebrow in response, the lines around his mouth a little too tight.

“So, uhm, I went to the grocery store with Elena because it was her week and she’d forgotten,” Merlin says, swinging his arms a little because they suddenly feel like they don’t belong to his body. “I realise now that I should probably have told someone.”

“You, _Mer_ lin, are completely impossible.”

“Hey, I’m trying, you know,” Merlin says vehemently, moving towards the stairs, attempting to brush past Arthur. “I’m not used to all of this, it’s always just been me, except when it was me and–”

He swallows the word, freezing up on the first step and Arthur puts a hand on his shoulder, turning him around. Merlin avoids his gaze.

“You and who?” Arthur asks, and Merlin kind of wants to punch him in the knees for the way his voice goes deep and a little gravelly, but then the feeling of that voice goes straight to Merlin’s own knees instead.

“My mum.” His voice wavers and he swallows around the familiar tightening in his throat. He tries to stop the way he’s probably leaking sadness, but if the way Arthur’s lips pull downward and his eyes glow a faint red is anything to go by, he’s not successful.

Arthur reaches forwards and buries his face in Merlin’s neck, nipping a little at the skin of his shoulder and Merlin tries not to sink into it for just a moment until he gives in, letting Arthur press him back against the wall.

“She thinks I’m doing field research for my degree,” Merlin says, closing his eyes. “I kept planning to pay someone to say I’d gone missing on the trip.”

Arthur’s chest vibrates against his, an unhappy growl being muffled against Merlin’s skin.

“Jesus, Merlin, being a werewolf doesn’t mean you’re dead,” Arthur says, lifting his head to look at him. “You can still see your mum. You’re still a fair amount of human, that doesn’t just change.”

Looking at him intently, Merlin threads his fingers into Arthur’s hair. “Well, I didn’t know that, did I? All I knew was that I woke up after a full moon covered in blood. Animal blood, as it turned out, but what was I supposed to think?”

“Do I need to remind you of your humanity?” Arthur says, the corner of his lips lifting into a crooked smile.

Merlin’s attempt to answer gets muffled by the warm press of Arthur’s lips. Arthur’s thumb moves over his jaw, tilting his head until the angle is just right and the kiss is deep and lingering.

When Arthur noses at a spot below his jaw, inhaling deeply, Merlin has to laugh, his fingers flexing in Arthur’s hair. “Are you sniffing me? This isn’t really reminding me of my humanity as much as it’s making me wonder about werewolves.”

Arthur answers by nipping at his skin.

“Hey!” Merlin says half-heartedly. “You know, this is really not very subtle.”

“If you were hoping to keep a secret in a house full of werewolves, you’re in for a really terrible surprise.” He can feel Arthur smirk into his skin and he was never going to keep it secret anyway, that possessive bastard.

Cupping Arthur’s face in his hands, he pulls him up to press several light kisses to that really addictive bow of his lips. Arthur smiles fondly, but tries to cover it up by rolling his eyes as he pushes away from the wall.

“Am I forgiven for sneaking out for groceries?” Merlin calls after him as Arthur walks back up the stairs.

“Just stop being such an idiot and we’ll discuss it.”

Merlin rolls his eyes, not bothering to reply as he walks back towards the kitchen, only to find Elena standing in the hallway, beaming so brightly that her face has nearly split in two.

“Oh god,” Merlin says. “That looks like it hurts.”

“You smell happy!”

“If you don’t stop looking at me like that I’ll start smelling like punchy fists.”

She laughs, her hair slipping from her shoulders as she tips her head back.

“Welcome to the life of pack: where absolutely nothing is sacred.”

Merlin groans, rubbing a hand over his cheek and Elena loops her arms around his waist, hugging him close. “Why on earth are you hugging me?” he says, stiffly putting an arm around her shoulders.

“You smell nice,” she says, rubbing her cheek against his chest. “Really nice.”

He just gives in, wrapping his other arm around her and figures it’s just one of those things.

***

Merlin had nearly come to the point where being a werewolf seemed almost like being human, just with extra special senses and the ability to heal. And yes, there had been the occasional wolfsbane mishap and the odd moment of finding his packmates snapping at each other with elongated teeth. But then they’d do things that were so gut-wrenchingly human at times that he forgot. And they’d have film nights where all they did was hang around eating pizza and watching terrible horror films like Merlin used to do at uni – back when he was just human Merlin.

Somehow, a lot of the supernatural realities of being a werewolf just fell away a little. The thoughts of being _something other than_ human became an afterthought.

The full moon shouldn’t be a surprise (it’s right there on the calendar tacked to the fridge, after all), but he’d pushed his worries about it to the back of his mind and let it stay there until he’d almost convinced himself it wouldn’t happen. When it comes close it hits him like a ton of bricks. He starts snapping at the others too often. At first he doesn’t know what’s gotten into him, but then he realises that a _werewolf_ got into him. And now it’s lurking beneath at all times, the moon coaxing it out of him even when he’s actively trying to keep it back.

When Gwaine teases him about his ears, his claws rip into the clothes he’s putting in the wash and Gwaine looks regretful for a moment before he starts making comments about werewolf-ripped t-shirts being the latest in fashion.

He feels bad every time he loses his temper, even though he’s pretty sure they understand. At least Morgana just snaps back, but this wounded look always crosses Elena’s face before she replies calmly. The human in him burns with guilt.

When the day of the full moon comes, Merlin’s body aches with the way he’s always tense, trying to keep himself in check. He doesn’t want to lose control of the humanity of his body. The disorienting way his senses had jumbled everything that night in the forest comes back to him in uncomfortable flashes. He doesn’t like it when the wolf takes over and makes his hands into claws and his face into something that could tear someone apart – not when he’s not the one in control of it.

When Arthur tells “everyone who’s not Merlin” to clear out, he feels bad and relieved and small all at once, plus a million other feelings that are hard to make sense of. His hands ball into fists, frustrated at the world and himself. He’s so helpless that Arthur has to ask everyone else to leave the house just because he can’t handle the moon.

His blood rushes in his ears and he zones out. For a moment he’s running through the woods, sinking his teeth into flesh that gives under the press of his jaw until he snaps out of it when Arthur’s hand is cupping his neck, pressing at the back of it. Merlin shakes his head, vision a little bleary as he looks at Arthur with his senses oversensitive and all over the place.

“Hey, you’re good,” Arthur says, his fingers tightening against Merlin’s neck. “Just shake it off.”

“Just _shake it off_?” Merlin tries not to give into the anger, but the snap of his teeth happens before he can prevent it.

“Alright.” Arthur holds his gaze, not backing down under Merlin’s obvious aggression. “Change of plans. Give into the shift and we’ll ride it out.”

“ _No_ ,” Merlin says, his voice breaking even as his claws press their way out of his fingertips.

Arthur cups his face in his hands, his thumbs resting against Merlin’s cheeks, forcing Merlin to look at him. “Listen to me, Merlin. The wolf is a part of you now. You’ll learn to control it better, but this is you. You can’t keep fighting this because it’s not going away. You hear me? It’s _never_ going away.”

The change is almost explosive, twisting and warping everything familiar about him. He wrenches himself out of Arthur’s grip and leaps up the stairs, growling as his face transforms entirely. Everything is instinct as he leaps through the building, through the corridors and up the stairs, letting his muscles stretch and pull as he runs.

He feels Arthur there. He can’t see him, but he’s close by at all times, and he latches onto the steady beat of his heart, responding to it in a way he doesn’t really understand. There’s an odd detachment between his body and his mind, where the instincts seem to be blocking him from getting control of what he’s doing, but the steady heartbeat seems to anchor him to something.

Arthur corners him at the end of a corridor, looking collected in a way that Merlin decidedly isn’t. Merlin’s skin itches and he tries to get past Arthur, only to find alpha-red eyes staring back at him and the wolf in him calms almost instantly. He whimpers a little, sitting back against the wall with his knees drawn up to his chest.

Reaching out to thread his fingers into Merlin’s hair, Arthur hunches down next to him, pressing soft lips to his brows. Under the light touch, Merlin’s features change slowly in that way that still makes him feel slightly disoriented.

“You’re getting really sappy,” Merlin says, his voice rough and strange in his throat. “I just thought you should know.”

“Shut up.” Arthur presses his hand to the back of Merlin’s head and gives him a shove.

“Ow.”

“Just go to your room and go to bed.” Arthur’s lips are pursed in a tight line and Merlin feels a little bad for commenting on the whole sappy thing. Clearly, Arthur was trying to calm him down and Merlin is being a jackass.

“I’m not tired,” Merlin mutters, leaning against the wall.

“It’s not up for discussion, actually, so just go.”

He’d try to protest, just to be contrary, but the exhaustion is bone deep and he was a bold faced liar when he said he wasn’t tired. His muscles protest as he moves from his spot, and he shuffles down the stairs to the floor below where his room is, trying not to think about the way he’s probably worn Arthur’s patience so thin it’s snapped in half.

He falls asleep almost the moment he hits the mattress with no time to think about the full moon. It’s probably a fitful sleep, because his dreams are strange and vivid, jumping from one image to the next. There’s a lot of forest and earth under his nails. In one instance he’s even pretty sure he’s an actual wolf. It’s the one where his mother stands in the clearing that makes him wake, gasping for breath and turning his face into the pillow.

There’s an arm around his waist, fingers splaying out over his stomach to keep him still as he flails a little. A kiss to the back of his neck relaxes him, making him sink back against Arthur’s chest.

“Is this a thing now?” he asks, still on the edge of sleep.

Arthur is quiet behind him, but he doesn’t pull away. He doesn’t even tense, he just breathes into Merlin’s neck, hand moving softly across his stomach. “Yeah, I’m pretty sure it is.”

“Okay.”

“We don’t have to, you know,” Arthur says, muffled against his skin. “I mean, it’s not... this is a human thing with choices, not a pack thing. You know that right?”

“I vaguely remember it being mentioned before you left me hanging with a raging hard-on, yeah.”

Arthur smiles against his neck.

“Don’t be all noble about it, alphawolf.” Merlin stretches languidly, resting his arm over Arthur’s, fingers entwining. “I’m still fully capable of saying ‘fuck no’ if that’s what I feel.”

“I know. It drives me insane.”

Merlin laughs, his voice still a little rough. He feels wrung out, like someone pulled him inside out and back again, but the feeling of Arthur’s breath on his skin and his arm over his waist is like an anchor, holding him to his humanity even as the instincts are lurking not far from the surface.

“I’m really bad at this,” he says, looking down at their hands.

“Merlin, everyone’s bad at this unless they’re born with it. The first two months after the bite were the worst few weeks of my life.”

Merlin doesn’t say anything to that. He just closes his eyes, trying to ignore the relentless whisper of the full moon.

“What happened with you and Morgana?” he asks after they’ve been lying in silence for ages while Merlin matched his breath to Arthur’s. “You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to. It just seems like there’s some history there, what with all the glaring.”

He can feel Arthur’s steady breath over his skin as the silence stretches and he starts to feel restless with discomfort over asking the question in the first place. It’s not really his place, but then again they’re spooning on his mattress and Arthur has slotted their legs together until Melin can’t figure out how to disentangle himself even if he wanted to.

“She’s my sister.”

“What?” Merlin’s eyes widen and he tries to turn, but Arthur doesn’t let him.

“Our dad, he’s... we grew up as hunters. Pendragons. One of the most important families of hunters for centuries.” Arthur’s voice is low, speaking close to his ear. “I grew up learning how to kill werewolves – the monsters. I learned how to honour the code, how to bend it and how to break it.”

Merlin swallows, his hand tightening over Arthur’s.

“They bit us as revenge. Our dad’s never been particularly merciful and he had a lot of enemies.”

“Jesus, Arthur.”

“It doesn’t matter.”

“Yeah, it does,” Merlin says incredulously. “Have you seen him since?”

He feels Arthur shake his head. “Morgana and I don’t agree on what to do about it. I think we should try to negotiate a peace agreement, or at least a cease-fire. Morgana thinks we need to take him out because he’ll never understand.”

“You can’t let her kill your _dad_ , jesus. She’s wrong,” Merlin says and for the first time he feels Arthur tense behind him.

“She’s not,” Arthur admits quietly. “She’s not all wrong. There’s very little chance he would understand or show us mercy for being who we are. I _want_ her to be wrong, but you don’t know what he’s like, what he’s been taught to be like.”

“What you were taught to be like,” Merlin supplies. “And yet here you are.”

Arthur laughs a little then, the sound easing the worry that had settled in Merlin’s stomach. “I didn’t exactly have a choice, Merlin.”

“Could’ve killed yourself, given yourself up to the hunters, become an omega and hide away forever instead of accepting other wolves. You had a lot of choices and you still chose this.”

Arthur’s fingers slide along Merlin’s jaw, turning his head until he can dip down and catch Merlin’s upper lip between his. It’s a little off centre and definitely a little messy, but the feeling of it spreads through Merlin’s chest, filling him up until he’s brimming with the feeling of Arthur’s hungry kisses. He moans, the solid heat of Arthur pressed along his back making his skin buzz and he’s... yeah, he’s definitely hard now.

Which didn’t go particularly well for him the last time.

He mouths desperately into the kiss, trying to distract Arthur from stopping in case that’s what he’s planning to do, because Merlin’s not here for the stopping. He doesn’t care if it’s the bloody full moon and that there may be more pressing matters to deal with, and if Arthur had wanted to distract him from that then job well done, really.

His neck aches from the strain of the position it’s in, so he lets his lips trail down over Arthur’s jaw, kissing a spot just below it before mouthing lazily at the skin on his neck. The taste of it is salty on his tongue, like sweat, but then something else as well, and Merlin buries his face into his neck and inhales.

He isn’t prepared for the scent of Arthur. It’s never been overwhelming before, it’s always just been there like a thing that just _is_. And now it’s making Merlin’s head spin because it’s so overpowering and the scent isn’t just smell, it goes beyond that until Merlin can’t figure out if he’s smelling or feeling. The desire in it is buzzing over his own skin, and he feels the bond between himself and Arthur just from the slow inhale.

Whining into Arthur’s neck, he can’t help the way his teeth sink into the soft flesh. They’re not quite as sharp as they can be, but they’re definitely not entirely human, and they sink in too easily. Merlin groans, licking at the mark as his hips give a slight thrust against nothing at all.

Arthur gives a throaty laugh and it vibrates against Merlin’s tongue.

“Stop laughing,” Merlin says, aggrieved, as he nibbles at another spot of skin.

“‘m not laughing.”

“You are.”

“Only because I know how you feel right now.”

“Ugh, you _really_ don’t,” Merlin says because Arthur isn’t the one with Arthur’s scent of _sex_ invading his everything or the one with Arthur pressed hot against his back.

Arthur’s hand moves gently down over his ribs, along his side and slips under the hem of his shirt, brushing across his skin. “Why do you think I’ve been burying my head in your neck whenever I get the chance?”

His muscles contract under Arthur’s fingers as they edge under the waist of his jeans and his boxers. They’re too hot and too perfect and Merlin grazes his teeth over Arthur’s jaw, his cock hardening at the mark he leaves, even if it fades away again much too quickly.

Too soon, his neck hurts too much from angling his head and he drops forwards, resting his head on his arm, breathing into the crook of his arm as Arthur leans forwards, pulling Merlin’s earlobe between his lips, the tip of his tongue flicking over it. Merlin’s breath rushes out of him and it’s shaky when he draws it back in.

“Fuck, you smell desperate,” Arthur mutters, his lips pressed to this perfect spot behind Merlin’s ear that makes his hips twitch. “Are you desperate, _Mer_ lin?”

“Shut... up,” Merlin whines, only because Arthur saying his name in that low, wrecked voice on top of everything else is _too fucking much_.

Arthur’s fingers don’t move from where they’re resting just below the waistband of Merlin’s boxers and the way they ghost just a little bit over his skin, teasing and reminding him that they’re there, is driving him a little out of his mind.

“Ugh, Arthur, just don’t stop, not like last time.”

“I seem to remember you did just fine on your own.”

“ _Arthur_.” Merlin really hates the way the desperation drips from his voice, but then again, it doesn’t matter since he reeks of it too.

Leaning in, his mouth grazing Merlin’s ear, he says, “What did you think about?” in a voice that makes Merlin’s cock twitch.

Merlin bites his lip, muffling a groan. He’s so hard, he just needs a little bit of friction to take the edge off, that’s all. And he almost gets it, except Arthur bats his hand away and bites down on the curve of his neck, breath hot and a little shaky. Merlin arches his back and Arthur presses a soothing kiss over the fading mark.

“Your mouth,” Merlin says, his heart pounding. “I thought about your mouth on my neck, kissing down my chest, wrapped around my cock, I just–”

Arthur makes an impatient sound, flicks open the button and pulls down the zipper on Merlin’s jeans, his hand wrapping tight and sure around Merlin’s cock, not giving Merlin a single second to get used to the feeling before he gives a sharp jerk. Merlin arches into it, whining high in his throat and throwing his head back against Arthur’s shoulder.

His neck is exposed and Arthur follows the line of it, licking a broad stripe from the jut of his collarbone to the curve of his jaw. Squeezing his eyes shut, Merlin pants, his lips parted as he pushes up into the grip Arthur has on his cock. Want curls in his stomach, coiled tight and hot, pulsing with every stroke of Arthur’s hand.

It’s not really what he expected werewolf-sex to be, because he has thought about it, there’s no denying that. He’d imagined it to be more frantic, rougher and more instinct, maybe. And this is really just what sex has always been, in a good, comforting and human kind of way. Although the heightened senses help. They _really_ help.

The grip is just a little tighter than the one he uses on himself and a little more languid too, like Arthur has all the time in the world to just stroke him. Fingers curl around him, long and sure and perfect as they slide over his sensitive skin. And it’s been so long since he’s had someone else do this. He’s forgotten what it’s like to not _know_ the next move.

When the rhythm changes, Merlin arches under it, his head pressing back against Arthur’s shoulder, breath shuddering out of him in a drawn-out moan. His cock throbs as he loses track of everything but the hot, hard, tight grip of Arthur’s fingers, jerking him faster now, but still with a steady rhythm that draws the buzzing pleasure out of him.

Arthur’s breath is heavy when he nuzzles against Merlin’s temple, mouthing at his skin as he groans, his hips rolling against Merlin’s arse.

“Shit,” Arthur mutters against Merlin’s forehead, “Jesus, look at you, you’re a mess. Just cause I’m jerking you off.”

Merlin can’t form words, they just won’t really happen, so instead of the vehement disagreement he was going to utter, he groans, deep in his throat and Arthur squeezes around him.

“I’m gonna fuck you sometime. Just look at you. I’m gonna make you fall _apart_ ,” Arthur says with something that sounds almost like awe in his voice before he moans, dragging his lips to Merlin’s jaw, sucking a bruise into his skin.

Blood rushes in his ears and he knows he’s lost control of the shift as his claws dig into the sheets, his face pulled into a grimace even as it changes The sound he makes then is so deep that he startles, his eyes opening wide, but Arthur seems to have expected it and laughs into Merlin’s neck, stroking his cock into the tight ring of his fist.

It feels like his orgasm is pulled out of him, leaving him wrecked and whining after he comes over the sheets and Arthur’s hand with a howl. He loses himself in it, pushing into the feeling of complete weightless bliss, the human and the wolf melded into one sated lump of contentment. It’s only when Arthur gives a shaking moan that he notices how Arthur’s hands grip his hips tightly, hips rolling until they hitch a little, Arthur’s breath rushing out over the skin of Merlin’s neck when he comes.

“Oh god.” Merlin’s voice sounds so wrecked that Arthur smirks lazily against him.

He’s still wolfed out when he falls asleep.

***

Merlin isn’t entirely sure what he expected the dwelling place of a coven of witches to look like. Probably something that had a dungeon-like quality or at least something deeply in touch with nature (maybe a hut in the woods). It’s neither of those things. It’s a loft. A very modern, very un-witch like loft in Hoxton.

The only thing about it that throws him off is the black line of what looks like sand blocking the doorway into the flat. Arthur rolls his eyes when he sees it and waits with a stony face until Mordred appears with a smug grin.

“Really?” Arthur says flatly. “Mountain ash?”

“Can never be too careful with wolves roaming the city streets.”

Mordred runs the tip of his boot through the line, separating it, and Merlin suddenly feels a rush of relief. He hadn’t even really noticed that something was off. 

“Werewolves can’t cross mountain ash,” Leon explains in a low voice as they follow Mordred inside. “Common precaution among magic users.”

Sometimes, Merlin is surprised by how little it takes to foil even the strongest of opponents. When he’d realised he’d turned into something that was stronger, terrifying and that even _healed_ he’d never thought he’d be stopped by a trail of black ash.

He half expects to find the entire flat covered in it, but the loft is clean and modern, like it’s just housing a bunch of fairly well off students and not a coven of witches.

“Why do we have to live in abandoned office buildings if witches have lofts?” Merlin mutters into Arthur’s ear even though he’d probably hear it from across the room with the whole superhearing thing.

He’s not going to apologise for leaning into Arthur’s space, though, especially not when Arthur turns towards him and smirks.

“Because we have an image to take care of,” Arthur says, looking pleased with himself.

“Wow, yeah, couldn’t possibly be werewolves and have an actual bed anywhere.”

“Morgana’s glaring at you,” Elena says from behind, leaning in between them to rest her arms on their shoulders. “You’re being rude guests.”

And, okay, maybe they are because Merlin’s pretty sure Mordred had been trying to say something. Possibly important.

Along with Mordred, there are five others in the coven. One of them is a small, pale-faced girl named Freya and another is a downright frightening woman named Morgause. The latter seems to get on pretty well with Morgana and Merlin isn’t really surprised at all. The other three had been quieter than the rest and Merlin hadn’t really caught their names, if they had introduced themselves at all.

“I thought they had information,” Merlin says to Arthur and Elena, watching as Morgana and Mordred continue to talk in whispers. He catches bits of it, of course, but he can’t even make much sense of it anyway. It’s not that they’re talking in code, per se, but it’s the sort of conversation that seems to only make sense between two friends or whoever is in on their shared experiences.

“I don’t know.” Arthur keeps his eyes on Morgana and the coven. “They might have. Or they want to strategise.”

“Hey, Morgs!” Gwaine hollers. “I know we have superhearing and everything, but maybe we could all talk.”

Morgause sets her eyes on him and Merlin doesn’t really know how Gwaine manages to not shiver visibly.

“We need to plan,” Morgause says, twirling the stick she’s been holding ever since they got there.

“Is that your wand?” Merlin says before he can think it through and the pack groans. Arthur gives him a shove to the shoulder. “Hey, it’s a legitimate question!”

“No, it’s not my _wand_. This isn’t Harry Potter, pup.” Morgause rolls her eyes and the others laugh.

“You kind of brought that on yourself by carrying a stick around,” Gwaine points out, smiling widely at Morgause when she narrows her eyes at him and sniffs. 

“In either case,” she says, raising her chin, “we’re not going to have this chat without addressing the pup here.”

“Leave Merlin out of this, he’s here with the pack, but you talk to me or Morgana,” Arthur says and Merlin feels him straighten up next to him.

Pity the alpha thing only really works on werewolves.

Morgause shrugs. “Our house, our rules, alpha.”

“Besides, if you want us to help, we need him,” Mordred says.

Merlin stills, wide-eyed, as every pair of eyes in the room turns to him. “What?”

“For what we’re dealing with we need to draw on more power.” Mordred nods to Merlin. “And this one here has the spark.”

“No,” Arthur says just as Morgana says, “Fine.”

They look at each other with narrowed eyes and Arthur growls low in his throat.

“Arthur,” Merlin says, exhaling slowly. “It’s fine. I’ll do whatever it is they need.”

Arthur looks at him like he’s an idiot. “You don’t even know what they’re doing yet and you’re just blindly agreeing.”

“Arthur,” Morgana says in a long-suffering tone.

“I didn’t know what you guys were doing either and yet here I am.”

Morgause laughs throatily. “I like him. Good catch, Arthur.”

“Just do what you need to do so we can get on with this,” Merlin says, stepping forwards.

He’s not stupid, though. He looks over his shoulder and catches Arthur’s eyes with a questioning glance. At the very least, he’ll give Arthur the pretence of giving him permission, and he fights a smile when Arthur gives a clear nod – enough to be noticed by everyone in the room.

Merlin is starting to figure out this beta thing. He didn’t think he would, but he is. Mostly because it doesn’t feel as weird letting Arthur have the control as he thought it would. Or at least, he’s a lot better at making it seem like Arthur is in control, even when he isn’t.

The members of the coven rise from their seat as he steps closer to them and Freya comes up to him, pressing his arms down to rest by his side.

“What exactly _are_ we up against?” Leon asks.

Morgause tuts at him. “All in good time.”

“Stand here,” Freya says, her hand still on Merlin. “We need to touch you to draw from your energy. There’s a lot of it in you.”

Looking up at Arthur with widening eyes, he’s not quite as cool as he’s pretending to be. What does it mean, exactly, that he has “the spark” and that there’s a lot of energy in him?

“Don’t worry,” Freya says as if he spoke out loud. “It’s just... some people have more magic in them than others. And if you have enough, you can draw on it. You don’t have quite enough for that, but enough that we can use it. It won’t hurt you.”

Merlin doesn’t know if that makes him feel any less weird about this. And he still feels a little worried. What if this spark is something he needs and are they tapping him dry?

Mordred had popped out of the room for a moment, but returns with a huge tome. There’s a symbol of entwining lines on the cover and this might not have been Harry Potter, but it’s clearly _Charmed_. Merlin wisely decides to not voice this thought.

A hand slips into his hair and he dearly wishes there had been someone else in the room with “the spark”. The others step close, so close that Merlin feels more than a little uncomfortable. He’s basically the centre of a witch-circle (a very small one) and one by one they place their hands on him, the air crackling with energy around them.

Merlin locks eyes with Gwaine over Freya’s head, widening his eyes in an attempt to communicate, but all Gwaine does is laugh and yes, maybe he deserves it for being a little too quick to jump into this.

It doesn’t take long before magic flows from their touch, curling around his arm and circling his waist, tickling over his back in coiling, ever-moving strings. He shivers, feeling too sensitive under the way the magic slides over him. It feels a little like an extension of them (every branch of magic feeling just a little different) and he’s being _touched_. A little inappropriately.

He wonders if he’s being pranked, but Mordred looks really serious, his eyes closed as he chants quietly under his breath, so it seems unlikely.

When magic twirls around his thigh, moving upwards in slow coils, he yelps and squirms. _Bad touch_ , seriously.

“Keep still,” Freya says by his ear and this... this is not on his list of things that are okay.

He hears Morgana laugh delightedly and he glares at her only to get a beaming smile in return. Clearly his discomfort is a source of amusement for her. He swears he sees Leon’s lips twitch too, the bastard. Elena and Gwaine are basically holding each other up, Elena biting into her bottom lip and if she laughs, he swears their friendship is so _over_.

Arthur, on the other hand, looks anything but amused. He looks decidedly _be_ mused, in fact, crossing his arms over his chest.

Morgause chooses that moment to laugh, running her hand down Merlin’s back. “You could’ve told us you had a new toy, Arthur.”

Sometimes he really misses being normal. Especially considering his kindofsortof-boyfriend growls at her, low and rumbling. It’s a complete overreaction. An overreaction that makes Merlin’s stomach flip. Apparently the days of normalcy are over.

“Fucking hell, we don’t have all day,” Arthur snaps, but Morgause only laughs and her breath fans across Merlin’s neck.

“Morgause,” Morgana says and finally, _finally_ they pull away from him.

The magic fades and he feels like he owns himself again, untouched by this strange other entity. He tries not to let it show how relieved he is. Even though the pack can smell it on him, the witches don’t need to know.

“Well, very very glad to be of service,” he says, grinning (maybe a touch too manically). “It was a very tickly experience.”

He takes a few steps back towards Arthur, Elena, and Gwaine, trying his best not to scratch at every part of his skin that itches in the wake of the magic.

“You did very well,” Freya says, and the brunette next to her nods. “It will make us stronger in the face of our threat.”

“Oh, good,” he says, taking another step back until he’s standing in line with Arthur again, their shoulders nearly touching. “I hope you, er, got to what you needed.”

“It was very satisfactory.” The way Morgause smiles then makes her seem a lot less threatening, like she’s genuinely amused and not trying to set them on edge.

Arthur’s hand splays out on Merlin’s back, heavy, warm and familiar in a way that makes Merlin relax into the touch.

Clearing his throat, Leon raises his eyebrow at the members of the coven. “Now that you got what you needed, maybe you’d like to enlighten the rest of us.”

They exchange looks for a moment until they seem to finally agree and Mordred reaches out for the large tome of a book they’d brought out earlier. Out from the pages, he slips a small ziplock bag with a few specks of something gathered in the bottom corner. He hands it to Leon who narrows his eyes at it, looking thoughtful.

“It’s dust,” Mordred says. “Nimueh found it when we were out in the forest the other night.”

“Dust?” Elena wrinkles her nose. “Is it from the thing we’re looking for?”

“We think so,” Freya says. “And if it’s not what we’re looking for, there’s another thing to worry about.”

“What creatures make dust, though?” Elena asks, stepping closer.

“Fairies.” Leon holds the plastic bag up towards the light. “Or similar creatures. They tend to leave behind a very fine sheen of it.”

“We can’t have a fairy roaming around that close to humans.” Arthur’s brow furrows. “Do we know if there’s been any kidnappings in the area?”

“Not that we’ve heard of.”

“I’ll check around,” Gwaine says, getting out his phone, moving to sit down on the couch even as Freya looks at him with discomfort and scoots away.

Morgause folds her arms over her stomach, looking at the bag Leon’s holding with pursed lips. “The problem is fairies are almost impossible to track down. They’re quick and the only real trace they leave behind is the dust.”

“So we can’t just barge into the forest and expect to find it,” Leon says.

“No, we’d have to lure it out somehow.” Morgause makes a face. “Or wait until it makes a move.”

It’s silent for a moment, everyone’s eyes on the dust and it makes Merlin feel uneasy, having to deal with something that he never even knew existed until a few minutes ago. There’s a lot of fumbling in the dark involved in this werewolf business.

“Doesn’t look like anyone’s gone missing from any areas around Epping forest,” Gwaine says, looking up from his phone. “There’s been a few in various other areas of London, but there’s no way to figure out if they have anything to do with the fairy.”

Morgana rubs at the back of her neck, her face drawn. “We’d probably have to assume they don’t. It could still be biding its time.”

“Do we know that it’s here to do anything at all, though?” Merlin asks. “Couldn’t it just be living in the forest?”

Her brows furrowing, Morgana shakes her slightly. “They usually don’t stick around here for long, there’s too little space for them. Epping forest isn’t that large, all things considered, and there’s too much activity in it for the creatures to stick around.”

“So it’s waiting,” Merlin finishes for her.

“Seems like it.”

“So we need to figure out if we’re going to make the first move or wait for it to make theirs,” Morgause says and the room gets quiet.

Merlin looks at Arthur whose hand has settled at the small of his back. His expression is thoughtful and there’s something strained about him that makes Merlin want to run his fingers through his hair until he goes pliant.

“We can’t wait,” Arthur says, finally. “We need to make the first move or it could be too late.”

“Yeah, but how?” Gwaine raises an eyebrow at him. “Morgause said they’re impossible to track.”

Freya cuts in before Arthur can answer. “You guys are looking at this all wrong. It’s not about what we don’t know about them, it’s about what we do know about them.”

“Gee, thanks for the riddles,” Gwaine says, looking at her sideways.

“Bugger off,” she says brightly. “All I’m saying is we can’t make a proper plan until we’ve researched more. We all need to figure out what we do know about fairies and then we’ll know how to lure it to us.”

“Not to mention we’ll know what to do with it,” Morgana interjects. “I, for one, have no idea how to kill a fairy. Or whatever it is we’re doing to it.”

“Alright. Fairy research it is.” Arthur doesn’t look extremely thrilled about it, really. “And no one does anything stupid in the meantime.”

“No more naked chanting in the woods?” Morgause says, pouting. “You spoil all the fun.”

“I’m sure the neighbours would love a show.” Arthur smirks, turning to head out when Morgause rolls her eyes and shoots a “We’ll be here on Saturday” at his back.

“Can’t wait,” Arthur deadpans.

When they take the bus back from Hoxton Merlin learns that his meeting with magic has left him reeking of something werewolves can’t stand. When the rest of the pack attempts to sit on the opposite side of the bus from him, he settles himself under the arm of a begrudging Arthur in the hopes that he’ll end up smelling of pack and Arthur and safety again.

***

“It’s impossible to find out what’s true about these things.” Elena is stretched out over a row of pillows she’d arranged on the living room floor, holding the book up over her head as she flicks through it. “There’s a hundred conflicting stories. I mean, how do you know which legend is true?”

“You don’t,” Leon says, his fingers sliding smoothly over the screen of his iPad.

“Then what are we even doing here? Is this your idea of fun, Leon, because someone needs to teach you fun. This is not it.” Elena waves her hand in circles over them. “It’s not it at all.”

Leon doesn’t even look up. “We’re compiling data and when we’ve finished doing that we’ll have a list of things about them. Then we start trying.”

“Are you _really_ suggesting trial and error?” Elena reaches blindly for the bowl of popcorn Morgana had made them before she’d fucked off to do god knows what. “Because we could die, you know. There’s death involved in this.”

“Not like there’s much else to do,” Leon says.

“Can you believe this guy?” Elena says, nodding towards Leon.

Merlin can’t really believe any of this, but he’s long since realised that he has no choice but to believe. He’s got a huge old book of the very dusty sort, that Arthur had dropped into his hands, propped open in his lap, his fingers brushing over the yellowed papers.

“Look, guys, I’m more worried about this.” Merlin holds the book up with difficulty, tapping his fingers on the page. “Is the succubus real? Because I’m really skeeved out right now.”

“Arthur says Morgana is one, but I think it’s a bit of an exaggeration.”

“Really, Elena, a _bit_?” Leon raises his eyebrow at her.

She gives him a sarcastic smile before throwing the book down onto the floor and flopping her arms out to either side. “Oh my god,” she says, drawn out, curling up on her side. “Can’t we just trap it in an empty jar?”

“It’s not Tinkerbell.” Merlin pauses. “Is it?”

“Of course not.” Elena sighs and her face pulls into a grimace. “God, Merlin, can’t you take a shower or something?”

“I have! Three times today.”

“Showers won’t help,” Leon says. Always the voice of reason, that one. “Have you tried touching stuff around the house?”

Merlin snorts, flipping over another page. “Yeah, I even rolled around in Morgana’s bed until she found me and threw me out, threatening to rip out my entrails with her teeth.”

Both of them look at him and he stares back. “What?”

“That’s an interesting choice of bed,” Elena says flatly.

“So, fairies, huh.” Merlin quickly flips through the pages. “See, here it says they’re said to lure young people out to dance all night. Sounds like an elaborate ploy to keep clubbing alive.”

Elena fumbles around for her book. “Alright, hint taken.”

They settle back, each of them focused on their own research, and the only sounds heard are some muffled noises from upstairs and the occasional crunching of popcorn. It doesn’t take long, however, before Elena drops the book to her chest and pinches the bridge of her nose.

“Merlin, I’m sorry, you know I love you madly, but can you _please_ go somewhere else because the smell of you is driving me insane.”

“Jesus Chr- Fine, fine.” Merlin snaps the book shut and steps over her, lingering just to make a point and she groans, batting desperately at him.

“What the fuck did they do to you?”

“You’re a drama queen, Elena!”

“Shoo!”

He leaves them behind, taking the stairs two at a time. It’s not like he doesn’t realise he stinks of some kind of magic. His sheets reek of it, making his room a little unbearable, and if he knew how to get rid of it, he would. So he can’t really blame them. He stops outside his room, but jesus, he can’t even handle it himself, really. He turns back and heads up another flight of stairs, seeking out Arthur’s room.

He’d been kind of banking on it being empty and Arthur being off doing his research somewhere else, but he’s there and Merlin stops in the doorway, clutching the book to his chest. Arthur’s sitting cross legged on his mattress, head bent over a much smaller book.

“Stop hovering,” he says without looking up and Merlin rolls his eyes, closing the door behind him as he steps inside.

“I’ve been exiled from the living room.” Merlin puts a hand over his heart, sighing dramatically. “I’m no longer wanted in the finer circles of the pack so I’m lowering my standards.”

“Fantastic,” Arthur says flatly. “I’d just been thinking how much I needed a foul-smelling loudmouth to get in my way.”

Merlin grins, slipping down on the mattress and curling up next to him in a move that surprises even him. As much as they’ve become a _something_ recently, neither of them have taken much initiative to make it a regular something. They both know it is a thing, of course they do, and it’s not that Merlin’s kept away on purpose, it’s just a little strange. He doesn’t quite know what Arthur wants him to do, especially when the rest of the pack is around, and as stupid as it sounds he’s been a little worried about rejection.

He doesn’t get pushed off the mattress, though, so that’s always something.

“Found anything?” he asks, hooking his chin over Arthur’s shoulder to peek at the book.

“Not much. Been reading a few legends, but you know.” Arthur turns to look at him, eyes dropping to his mouth for a brief moment.

“Yeah. We’ve been doing that downstairs as well. So far our prime suspect is Tinkerbell.”

Arthur laughs softly and licks his bottom lip a little, pulling it in between his teeth. It’s hard not to stare, so Merlin just does, because Arthur’s lips are full and wet and a little perfect. Eventually they pull up into a smile and Merlin looks up, sheepish. Arthur kisses him then – a swift press of his lips that makes Merlin smile and lean in for another.

Throwing the book to the side, Arthur hooks his arm around Merlin’s waist, drawing him closer.

“I can’t take this anymore,” Arthur says, frowning as he cups Merlin’s neck. “It’s driving me completely mad.”

“What? I haven’t even been trying to annoy you lately,” Merlin protests. “Which you should definitely appreciate more, by the way.”

Arthur gives him an unimpressed look, running a hand down Merlin’s ribs to rest at his waist, gripping his shirt. “I just want to find that one spot on you that doesn’t smell like them. Even if I have to bury my tongue in your arse.”

Merlin nearly swallows his tongue, hands balling into fists. Jesus _fuck_. Arthur cups his head and presses him close for a kiss that starts out chaste, but then Arthur’s thumb pushes at his chin and Merlin lets his lips part. His head is still kind of stuck on the image of Arthur’s tongue in his arse, because how could it not be, and he moans a little helplessly when Arthur licks into his mouth.

As Arthur pushes him down on the mattress, Merlin pulls Arthur with him by the front of his shirt, finally finding enough presence of mind to kiss back, pressing as close as he can with a desperate noise at the back of his throat.

Arthur breaks the kiss, burying his face in Merlin’s neck, lips pressed to a spot under his ear. “I wanna fuck this smell right out of you. God, I want you to smell like sex and come and nothing else.”

Biting his lip, Merlin arches up, pushing himself against the thigh that’s pressed between his. He circles his arms around Arthur’s back, clutching at the back of his shirt, and he’s really ready for this. All kinds of ready. Already fucking hard levels of ready.

“Better solution than rolling around in Morgana’s bed,” Merlin says.

“What? No. No, what–”

Merlin shushes him and rushes in for a kiss, swallowing the rest of the sentence.

“I want you to,” Merlin says against his lips, pulling the hem of Arthur’s shirt up, slipping his hands under it. “Want you to fuck it off me until I only smell like you.”

Arthur stills over him for a moment, but apparently that was the right thing to say because he only pauses for a second before pushing back onto his knees and wrenching Merlin’s shirt up over his head. Merlin gets stuck in it, flailing a little before he gets his head through. When he tosses it to the side, Arthur is already shirtless and fumbling with his jeans while looking at him, seemingly holding back a laugh.

“Shut up,” Merlin says. “I wasn’t prepared.”

And neither was he prepared for Arthur’s body, suddenly all there and naked and fucking amazing. Merlin pushes his own jeans down and throws them to the side, palming his cock with a strangled groan as he stares at the way Arthur’s hands skim over his own thighs as he gets undressed.

He remembers coming so hard it edged on painful just from Arthur jerking him off and his eyes go to the bulge in Arthur’s boxers. He hasn’t really had time to think about Arthur fucking him. He got about as far as blowjobs before he came all over himself whenever he tried to picture it, so he’s not really prepared for just how much he wants it.

When Arthur steps out of his boxers (a little ungracefully) and throws himself back onto the mattress, Merlin grabs the base of his cock and gives a slow pull, breathing heavily at the sight of Arthur, half-hard with his eyes focused on the movement of Merlin’s hand.

It’s not that Merlin hadn’t noticed right away that Arthur is fit as hell, but it just sort of hits him with so much clarity right then when Arthur pushes Merlin’s knees apart, his eyes trailing up his body with a slow, hungry gaze and his jaw slack. Breath gets stuck in Merlin’s throat and he breathes deep, trying to get control of it again, hand gripping the base of his cock tightly in case his body decides to do something ridiculous like come _right the fuck now_.

“I wasn’t sure you were ever going to get around to this,” Merlin says when the silence becomes too loaded.

Of course, he couldn’t have said something like “fuck, you’re so hot” to break the tension that makes him squirm. No, he had to go and be a twit.

Arthur snorts. “Likely scenario.” He sits on his knees between Merlin’s legs and when he leans forward, Merlin’s thighs brush against his sides and Merlin follows him with his eyes, waiting for the move that’s sure to come.

His leg twitches when Arthur’s hand slides over his hipbone, splaying out over his lower abdomen, his fingers light on his skin, but the touch still feels significant. When Arthur just studies him, Merlin suddenly finds the peace to really listen to his senses and he closes his eyes as he inhales, taking in the way the room is filled with a strong mix of scents. It’s like texture in the air, thick and velvety smooth.

He can hear both of their heartbeats, fast paced and clear, and it makes him smile at how he can separate them now. It doesn’t even take him a second to know the beat that belongs to Arthur.

When Arthur presses a kiss to the spot where Merlin’s fingers are still circled around his cock, Merlin lets out a shaky breath, closing his eyes so tightly it scrunches up his nose. Licking at each of his fingers, Arthur coaxes him to let go, rewarding him with a broad swipe of his tongue along the length of him.

If Merlin had hoped to keep his ability to think, he would have been sorely disappointed, because every sensation collides in his head until he doesn’t quite know what goes where.

Arthur grips him gently, licking at the base, his nose pressed into his groin. He stays there, breathing in and doesn’t move until Merlin whines at the back of his throat, his hand twitching with the need to _do something_ without knowing what.

When Merlin opens his eyes, Arthur’s face is so blissed out, so soft and satisfied that Merlin’s chest tightens.

“Finally a place where you smell like you,” Arthur says and his voice is low. His tongue lingers at the seam of his lips for a moment, wetting them.

Arthur’s mouth is soft and warm, stretched around his cock in a way that Merlin only gets to appreciate when the first shock of the touch settles and he’s stopped squirming. He fists his hand into Arthur’s hair, his stomach clenching tightly under Arthur’s hand as Arthur pulls back a little. His tongue flicks over the head, teasingly, before he sinks back down and it’s all wet and warm and the slow drag of Arthur’s tongue.

Merlin moans, losing track of everything but the amazing mouth sinking down on him, as far down as it goes until the head of his cock hits the roof of his mouth. As Arthur hums around him, Merlin’s thighs tremble with the strain of not clamping around his head to keep him there.

“Oh, god, do you have...” His words trail off into a moan as his cock pops out of Arthur’s mouth, pre-come spilling onto swollen lips.

The tip of Arthur’s tongue swipes across his lips and Merlin’s pulse hammers uncomfortably fast under his skin, which is impressive considering he’s barely felt his pulse rise since he got the fangs and the, well, everything.

Arthur leans back, picking up a bag and dumps the contents next to them. “Went to the shops today. Kinda had a feeling.”

“Was that feeling your dick?”

Arthur shuts him up by circling his hole lightly with his finger and Merlin throws his head back into the covers, a gust of breath rushing out of him as he tries to get his breath back properly. It doesn’t work. Instead, the muscles in his abdomen clench and unclench and his cock twitches.

There’s something really fucking brilliant about the way Arthur stretches him open with rapt attention, patiently pushing in one finger and then the next. Merlin’s not going to pretend he’s done this lately. There’ve been quick handjobs and the occasional blowjobs in uni, but he hasn’t really done this since before he left Ealdor. Arthur really seems to enjoy the preparation _a lot_ as he crooks his lubed fingers up into him, watching Merlin move restlessly, hips hitching involuntarily.

Brilliant also pretty much covers the moment when Arthur pushes into him, hands tight on Merlin’s hips and head bent as he breathes deep and with difficulty. Merlin reaches up and cups his neck, barely able to reach that far, but he ignores the strain in his arm and clutches onto the nape of Arthur’s neck, pushing himself up into the steady slide of Arthur’s cock.

Merlin is so filled, so enveloped in everything that belongs to Arthur, so fucking perfectly wrapped around him that he’s entirely sure he can feel every little detail of Arthur’s cock against his skin. He wraps his legs around Arthur’s thighs, moaning at the back of his throat as he uses his grip on Arthur’s neck as leverage to move.

“Fuck,” Arthur says on an exhale, dropping forwards until their chests are pressed together and Arthur can slide his lips down Merlin’s jaw.

“God, you–” Merlin’s voice breaks as Arthur gives the first real thrust, and it’s too much and not enough at the same time. It fills him all over again, his body going pliant as the pleasure spreads into his spine, his neck, his fingertips.

“Oh my god.” His voice is strangled and rough. “Arthur, jesus.” He leans in and kisses Arthur’s shoulder, wrapping his arms tight around his back, fingers digging into his skin.

The worst is that he can _smell_ it on Arthur – the want and the spicy little tinge of desperation, the sweet little bit of fondness that makes Merlin grab him by the hair and crush their lips together with too much teeth and tongue and absolutely the right amount of perfect.

Arthur’s groan rushes into his mouth and Merlin angles his hips to meet him, sucking on Arthur’s tongue with a needy whimper. The hand at Merlin’s waist holds him so tightly he can feel the imprint of each finger and the marks they make. He wishes they’d stay, but it’s not like it really matters because Arthur has abandoned the languid, steady rhythm, giving into the desperate force of his thrusts.

Merlin gets pushed up the mattress every time Arthur is buried deep inside, their kiss breaking because it’s too difficult to do anything but breathe into each other’s mouth.

“Ow,” Merlin says, a groan following right behind. There’s something sharp poking him in the back, the force of Arthur’s thrusts pushing him into it.

Growling in frustration, Arthur finds the book Merlin had discarded among the sheets and flings it out the way. The frustrated scowl on his face makes Merlin laugh and he shakes against Arthur, laughter rushing out of him until Arthur hits him at just the right angle and it dissolves into a long, drawn-out moan.

Merlin’s head bumps against the wall and he bends forwards, pressing kisses to Arthur’s chest. Bracing himself against the wall with one hand, Arthur bends down and kisses him deeply, with all the patience that the thrust of his hips lacks. Merlin’s breath is uneven, stuttering into the kiss, his heart beating too fast in his chest as the perfect drag of Arthur’s cock makes him arch up, losing any and all finesse he might have had left.

The pressure is wound so tightly, he can’t hold back anymore when a hard push of Arthur’s hips seems to make his spine melt away. The whine in his throat is desperate and Arthur must notice, because he moves his hand from the wall and props himself up on his elbow, giving Merlin room to tug desperately as his dick. It’s straining hard and hot in his fist.

He comes before he even has time to realise it’s happening and he throws his head back, hitting the wall just a little as he gives a strangled moan when he spills over his stomach, gasping for breath, all air pressed out of his lungs.

“Yeah,” Arthur says, running his thumb across Merlin’s cheekbones. “So fucking good, Merlin...”

Merlin is boneless under his erratic thrusts, but god, he needs Arthur to come, he needs to see his face and hear him, he needs to smell it and feel it and _know_ it.

“Where do you wanna come on me?” Merlin says, voice wrecked. “Where do you wanna mark me? My face, maybe. Or my collarbones. I think I like that one.”

Arthur doesn’t actually get to choose, because that’s what it takes before he groans loudly, pressing into Merlin twice more as deep as he can go before coming. His jaw is slack and his lips parted, lovely little moans pressing out of his throat. When Arthur slumps forward, Merlin catches him and smiles into his shoulder.

***

Three days later, Arthur goes missing. It comes out of nowhere in the middle of a surprise heatwave. There’d been a sudden, last breath of summer that turned the office building into the fourth circle of hell. If there ever was air condition in this building, it had long since stopped working. Merlin had been absolutely useless ever since the last, lingering heat wave crept into the south of England.

“You live like this all summer?” he’d asked Arthur, the t-shirt sticking to his back as he sat cross legged on the floor, Leon’s iPad in his lap, looking over the list they’d compiled about fairies.

“You get used it.” Arthur had shrugged.

Merlin had eyed him in disbelief. “Mate, you’re lucky you even have a pack. There’s no reason they couldn’t be living in their own flat right now where the temperature isn’t set by Satan.”

In hindsight, Merlin wishes that hadn’t been the last conversation he had with Arthur: reminding him about the fragility of packs, considering Arthur’d had his fair share of trouble keeping this one together.

“This is really, _really_ bad,” Elena says as if the rest of them don’t know. “Arthur never disappears like this.”

“Maybe he went to find Uther. You know he’s been wanting to.” Gwaine rests his arms on his knees.

“No,” Leon says with force. “He and Morgana didn’t agree about a lot of things, but he’d never do that without her.”

Merlin hasn’t said anything and he knows they’re giving him that worried, weary, ‘are you going to break down’-look. He’s not. Breaking down, that is. He’s just thinking, replaying the last few days in his head, trying to find out if Arthur had given any indication that he was going to split, or if he’d mentioned anything out of the ordinary.

The conversation stops altogether when Morgana comes back, her face tired and drawn as she leans against the doorframe.

“No trace of him. I can follow his scent for a while and then it just runs cold.”

“His scent wouldn’t just disappear into the blue like that, would it?” Elena asks.

“It could, if it’s been a while and it starts mixing with other things.” Leon doesn’t really look like he believes it.

“Or if someone’s covering it on purpose,” Morgana finishes for him and they all fall silent.

“We all know what this is.” Gwaine gives a one-shouldered shrug. “We’re wasting time trying to find out what happened when we know we can probably find him in the forest.”

“No,” Merlin says before anyone else can reply and everyone looks at him in surprise, because, yeah he really has been sort of quiet. Also, he may have said that really loudly. “We can’t,” he amends. “If it’s the fairy, it has the upper hand. It has something we want and we have nothing to offer in return and we don’t have a plan. It’s obvious that if it took Arthur, it wants something.”

“It could’ve just been looking for some random victim, though, couldn’t it. It’s not like it _had_ to know Arthur is who he is.”

“Yeah, Gwaine, but you can sense other creatures,” Merlin points out. “Why shouldn’t the fairy be able to?”

“I can smell them,” Gwaine says. “Doesn’t mean the fairy has any clue about these things.”

Everyone looks to Morgana. It seems natural to defer to her, somehow, like they all do it on instinct. Merlin wonders if someone just becomes the alpha if they ever lose theirs, or if they have to fight for it. The thought makes him sort of queasy, though, so he abandons it. Really quickly.

“Out of every single person in London, the fairy goes for Arthur?” she says, her arms crossed tightly over her chest. She shakes her head. “No, it’s too much of a coincidence.”

“So we’re going to sit around and read those bloody books about fairty tales? They could be a load of bullshit for all any of us know.”

Gwaine is usually the cool, collected one among them. Not that he’s level-headed like Leon or relaxed like Elena, but he always seems unfazed by whatever goes on around them. Now, though, Merlin realises he’s worried. His jaw is clenched tightly and his leg bounces, and there’s a faint trace of distress in his scent.

Merlin’s not so sure any of them are in the right mind to make decisions, but they still have to be made.

“How the fuck did this happen?” Morgana says and she sounds more vulnerable than he’s ever heard her before.

Elena rests her head against her hand, her lips pulled into a deep frown. “Okay, guys, we need to just focus. Find everything you can about the fairies, I don’t care if it’s wrong or right.”

She gets up and finds all their collected notes and Leon follows, looking up the notes on his iPad. Gwaine looks on, dubious, until Elena sets her eyes on him. For a moment she’s downright glaring, until her expression softens.

“Come on, Gwaine.” She rests an open book in her lap. “It’s better than doing nothing.”

Merlin watches them for a while after Gwaine has sighed and given in, biting at the tip of a highlighter as he bends over an encyclopedia. Merlin feels restless, though, like he’s missing something or there’s something he can’t remember.

There must be _something_. Something that Arthur had said or done that could tip them off.

“I’ll be right back,” he says and he hears Elena give a soft “Okay” as he heads upstairs.

Arthur’s room is quiet when Merlin steps inside. He stops in the middle of it, looking around a little aimlessly. Arthur’s bed is unmade, covers thrown aside and bunched against the wall. The window is open, creating a bit of a draft, but the air is completely still outside, so it’s still unbearably hot. A mess of clothes are in one corner, Arthur’s jacket slung over the single chair in the room. It looks like it always does, but the unnatural stillness of it gives Merlin the creeps.

He drags a hand through his hair, heart speeding up in his chest for no good reason. The room is really empty. And it’s so wrong. He doesn’t know how to fucking do this. How do you even take on supernatural creatures with little to no certain facts about them? And how is he supposed to do this when Arthur is somewhere else entirely. He might even be dead for all Merlin knows, and _oh god_.

His breath becomes ragged and unsteady, his hands shaking a little as he turns on the spot, becoming a bit frantic in his search for that one thing they’re missing. If there’s one thing he’s learned from uni, it’s that there’s always one thing, and you can find it, if only you search long enough.

He doesn’t know how long he has, though, and that thought gets stuck on a loop as he lifts up the covers, checking under the mattress and in the little nightstand Arthur has. There’s nothing out of the ordinary there. There’s nothing but a pen, the book Arthur had been reading about the fairies, and other assorted items that Merlin can find nothing suspicious about.

When he finds the bottle of lube, he drops it back into the drawer of the nightstand without a second look, his stomach flipping uncomfortably.

He realises he’s freaking out and he knows, _he knows_ it’s not good and that he needs a clear head that isn’t clouded by panic and a hundred different thoughts. Stopping in place, he takes several deep breaths, forcing his thoughts back on a more productive track, going over the past few days over and over in his head, trying to find the angle that completely eludes him.

It’s just that he doesn’t know if he agrees with Gwaine. He doesn’t know if it’s the fairy. It almost seems too easy, because the fairy is something real and tangible that they’ve been looking for and it’s the easiest solution to their problem. But what if it isn’t? What if it’s something else entirely.

“You okay?”

Morgana is standing in the doorway, leaning against it with her arms crossed over her chest.

He swallows. “Yeah, fine,” he says, and damn, he hears his heart skip on the lie and her lips pull into a smile.

She pushes herself from the wall and moves inside. “I could smell your panic from downstairs.”

“I’m just trying to find the thing we missed. There’s something. There’s always something.”

His thoughts get stuck on one of the scenarios he’s been thinking through, and in some ways it’s the worst one, but at least it would mean Arthur isn’t being tortured or killed. He looks at Morgana, his mouth dry.

“Do you think...” he starts and then pauses. “Did he say anything to you about regretting, uhm, well, me? Maybe he left. Because...” Merlin makes a vague gesture.

Morgana arches an eyebrow at him, giving him a long look.

“No, he didn’t say anything to me about that. But if you really think he left because of you, you’re an idiot.”

“I don’t _think_ he did, exactly, I’m just examining every angle,” Merlin says, throwing his arms out in frustration. “What else is there left to do?”

“Alright,” Morgana concedes. “But he wouldn’t have. If it, for some strange reason, came down to you or him, he would have thrown you out. Because the pack needs its alpha and he couldn’t leave us even if he wanted to.”

“So the fairy took him.”

“Well, that’s what everyone jumped to.” Morgana looks at him and then at the covers Merlin had thrown haphazardly to the floor in his search.

“Do you think they’re wrong?”

“Not necessarily, but there is another option.”

Merlin stills. “Hunters?”

She nods, pursing her lips tightly.

“He told me about... you know,” he says, trailing off in case the others are listening (and he doesn’t know how much of that situation is even known).

If she’s surprised, she doesn’t show it. “Yeah, well. I doubt it was him. If it was hunters, it’d be someone else.”

Merlin moves over to the pile of clothes, squatting down to look through them, checking the pockets for notes or anything that might give him a clue. He doesn’t look at Morgana when he takes a deep breath and says, “I wasn’t really thinking about that.”

When she doesn’t answer, he grows a little bolder.

“He can help us,” Merlin says, purposely avoiding the name ‘Uther’. “Despite everything, I really don’t think he wants any of you dead. If he did, he would’ve tried long ago.”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about, Merlin.” She watches him as he digs through the pile of clothes. “There’s no use going to him.”

“Look, I know you don’t trust me, but I swear, all I want to do is find Arthur and get him back home.” He swallows with some difficulty, hands stilling in one of Arthur’s red t-shirts, his fingers tightening. He closes his eyes for a second. “Look in the jacket will you?”

He hears her move behind him and he tries not to let his annoyance with her show, tries to focus on something else so it won’t seep out of him and make everything worse.

“Shit. Merlin.”

He looks up, alarmed, and his eyes widen when she holds up the jacket. On the back of it is a light sheen of dust, glinting slightly in the light from the window.

“Fuck.” He gets up, reaching out to run his finger over the back of the jacket. “Guess that answers that.”

“It hasn’t been in here, we would’ve smelled it. He must’ve run into it before the disappearance happened.” She turns the jacket around in her grip, draping it back over the back of the chair. “But where has he even... it can’t have been with the coven, we’d all be covered in it.”

“Do we even know what they look like?” Merlin says, his brows furrowed. “I don’t even know what I’m looking for.”

“I’ve never met one,” Morgana admits, biting down on her lip as she stares at the jacket as if it’ll give her all the answers.

“But he, uhm... Uther. He would know, wouldn’t he?”

Her face falls and she reaches up, rubbing a hand over her forehead. “Probably more than us.”

“We _have_ to. What else do we have to go on? The last thing I read about fairies is that they came from baby laughter, for christ’s sake.”

He feels bad for her right then, because he sees the way she crumples. She looks young (he sometimes forgets that she’s only a little older than him) and a little frightened. And if the situation had been anything else, he’d take her hand and tell her it’s fine, they don’t have to.

But they do have to.

***

It feels a bit like being in a mafia film. Hunters are guarding the exit with what Merlin assumes are guns with wolfsbane bullets, blocking the entrance to the door the moment it clicks shut behind them. It’s only Morgana and him. It seemed like the safest solution to keep the rest out of sight, somewhere close enough to be backup, but not near enough to be in a potential line of fire.

Morgana has drawn herself up to her full height, striding confidently into the room with an air of defiance. Uther has only been told that a group of werewolves has some information for him because they didn’t want to play their hand before they even got there. Merlin and Leon had argued that they’d at least have the element of surprise on their side.

They do.

Uther, who at first raises his head with an arrogant air about him, jumps from his seat when he sees who it is and every pretense disappears from his face. He’s a little older than Merlin expected, but there’s such an obvious strength and authority about him that he almost wants to take a step back. But at the same time, Merlin sees little flickers of Arthur in him and his stomach rolls.

“Morgana.” There’s awe in Uther’s voice and Merlin remembers that they haven’t actually seen each other since Morgana and Arthur were bitten. Morgana’s expression falters for just a moment before she pulls herself together and he tries to keep himself calm, so that she won’t get any additional stress from him on top of everything else.

“Uther,” she says calmly, looking him straight in the eyes.

“Everyone out.”

The guards looks at each other with uncertain glances before Uther raises his voice and barks, “Everybody out now!”

As the guards leave, he sets his eyes on Merlin and Morgana shakes her head. “He’s with me. He’s staying.”

“You shouldn’t have come,” Uther says, looking at her searchingly.

“Well, I did.”

He stands still, face unmoving, and Merlin realises he’s waiting for them to make the first move. He’s not about to take the first step in a situation where he knows nothing. Probably a wise move, now that Merlin considers it.

“What do you know about fairies?” Morgana asks, voice steady. Merlin would’ve been fooled if he hadn’t seen the faint tremor in her hand.

Uther looks taken aback for a moment, looking at her with a thoughtful expression.

“I’m not willing to share my information unless I know what it will be used for.”

Morgana meets Merlin’s gaze as if she’s asking for advice, but damn, he doesn’t know. He just shrugs and nods, because why not? They’d probably have to tell Uther at one point anyway.

“We think a fairy has taken Arthur,” she says and there’s a crack in Uther’s careful mask of neutrality. “And we want him back.”

“What do you mean it’s taken Arthur?”

“Well, Arthur’s gone and we found this on his jacket.” She holds out a small ziplock bag that they’d put some of the dust in. “It hadn’t been in the house, we couldn’t smell it, but he must’ve been in contact with it before.”

Uther takes the bag from her and walks over to a nearby table, holding it in under a lamp. “I haven’t seen a fairy here in a long time. It’s very strange that it should show up and take Arthur.”

They watch him flip the bag over and over in his hand, a wrinkle appearing between his eyebrows. He doesn’t say anything, though, and Merlin shares a worried look with Morgana as the silence stretches. This might’ve been a dead end.

“Will you tell us what you know or do we have to run in teeth first?” Morgana says and he looks up at her, face unreadable for a moment.

“Of course I will,” he says, straightening up and hands the bag back to her. “I may be a lot of things, Morgana, but I’m not a monster.”

“Like us, you mean.”

It gets about five degrees cooler in the room, and ordinarily, Merlin would have appreciated that since sweat is pooling in the dip of his spine, but it’s pretty uncomfortable, especially with the stony silence that accompanies it.

It’s Uther who breaks, voice strained. “I’m starting to wonder if we even know each other if you think I want my children to die.”

“No, just everyone else like us, right?” Morgana smiles, cold and insincere. “All our friends, our pack, the people we love.”

“You know it’s not that easy,” Uther protests. “You know it’s not. You know we have to keep the balance. Not all werewolves are good, they can’t just roam free in a city with millions of humans. It’s not natural.”

None of them answers, because what is there to say? All werewolves aren’t good. They know that better than a lot of people, considering they were bitten and left to fend for themselves. It doesn’t mean Merlin agrees with the way hunters deal with wolves, but it’s certainly not untrue (he’s not touching the comment about it not being natural, though). Morgana looks stricken and it feels like they’re losing control of the situation fast.

“We need to find Arthur as soon as possible,” Merlin says, unable to stop the nervous habit of fidgeting his hands, not knowing what to do with them as he tries to bury the anxiety that lurks under the surface somewhere. “What do they look like? What are we looking for here?”

Uther gives him a long look, measuring him a little too intently with his gaze and it’s ridiculously uncomfortable. He can’t quite stop feeling skittish about the way he’s suddenly the centre of Uther’s attention.

“Well,” Uther says, nodding to the bag clutched tightly in Morgana’s hand. “For one, it’s not exactly a fairy, it’s a sidhe. They’re usually notoriously elusive and something must have brought this one out of hiding.”

“A sidhe?” Morgana asks, her brows furrowed. “What do they look like? Just like fairies?”

“They’re small creatures, sidhes. Smaller than fairies, originally.”

“Originally?”

“They can, in rare cases, take human forms.”

Merlin starts. If it can take the form of a human, it means it could basically be anyone. But if Arthur had been in contact with it before, then it could be someone they know. And as it stands, Arthur doesn’t really spend a lot of time with people outside the pack. Nor does the pack really go anywhere except when they need something or when they’re going to the forest.

Seemingly sensing the change in him, Morgana looks at him with concern. “Merlin?”

“It’s got to be someone we’ve met,” Merlin say. “Where else would he get the dust all over his jacket?”

“It could’ve been someone he ran into, I suppose.”

“Yeah, but Arthur doesn’t really go anywhere, does he? Unless he’s going with someone else from the pack.”

Morgana wraps her arms across her chest and sighs, looking thoughtful. “Wouldn’t we notice if we met them? And who should it have been.”

“Maybe a busdriver?”

“But we’d smell them, wouldn’t we?”

“What would they smell like?” Merlin asks, turning to Uther.

Uther looks involuntarily amused. “Well, I wouldn’t personally know.”

“Oh, fuck. Right. Bugger.”

“But,” Uther says, narrowing his eyes at Merlin for speaking too soon. “I’ve heard they tend to smell quite strongly of their place of dwelling, like a forest, a flower field or even a lake.”

Merlin’s eyes widen, his scattered thoughts finally coming together.

“The girl at the shops!” He looks between Uther and Morgana. “She was all over Arthur when we were there a few weeks ago. I thought she was just really into him. And she smelled really overwhelmingly of flowers, it was like walking into a flower shop.”

Morgana looks at him, brows drawn together.

“Oh, shit.” Merlin looks at the bag of dust from the jacket. “He said he went to the shops the other day. “

“It’s not his week.”

“Oh, sod that spreadsheet,” Merlin says, and then turns to Uther. “We’re a pack of werewolves and your son decides we need a spreadsheet for our chores. He’s mental, to be honest.”

Uther smiles then – a tiny ghost of one that makes Morgana look like someone punched her in the face. “He would,” Uther says and oh damn, Morgana now looks like someone is punching her _puppy_ in the face.

“It’s got to be her. Oh, shit, what’s her name? Something with S. Or was it F?” Merlin knows that the anxiety he’s held in so well is now bubbling to the surface as if someone just dropped a bucket full of mentos in diet coke.

“You need to find her and figure out what she wants,” Uther says. “It’s the only way. Magic can also force her out of her human form.”

“We’ve got to get the others.”

“Morgana,” Uther says just as she moves to leave and she stops, her shoulders tense and Merlin sees her wince for just a second. “You can’t come back here.” Uther pauses and adds a quiet, “Not yet.”

Morgana looks at him, wide-eyed. “I know.”

When Uther steps up and runs his hand over her hair, Merlin turns away, slipping out the door to give them a moment.

It only takes a few seconds before Morgana comes up behind him and they all but run out of the building, eager to leave all those armed-with-wolfsbane hunters far, far behind.

“I’m really sorry we had to do that,” Merlin says as they jog down the street, looking for the others.

“Oh, it’s fine.” She sounds a little tired, or defeated, maybe. “It wasn’t as bad as I thought it’d be.”

“Maybe you can work together. I mean, your werewolf powers and his knowledge about these things.” Merlin waves his hand. “It’d be pretty unstoppable.”

“No. No, I don’t think so. He still loves us, but he loves the people we were without the wolf in us. I don’t think he’ll ever accept us the way we are now. He’ll always wish we were something else.”

Merlin thinks about his mum. If he ever tells her, she’ll always wish he were something else, too. But he thinks he can accept that. He can understand it, even. As long as he gets to have her back, he can accept a lot of things. It’s evident that Morgana can’t, though, and he understands that too.

Because as he hears the quiet muttering of the pack, their bond buzzing in him as they get closer, he feels weirdly protective of the werewolf in him. It belongs to him now, it _is_ him.

“Listen,” Morgana says and pulls him to a stop, lowering her voice. “Don’t tell anyone exactly what happened in there?”

He hears the ‘please’ even as she doesn’t say it and he nods.

***

It’s Gwaine who ends up going into the store. If only because she’d seen Merlin with Arthur, and then Elena and Merlin together, so that left the two of them out of it. And Gwaine has considerably better people skills than Leon and Morgana.

They don’t know much more than they did when they left the hunters’ place. Merlin had scared the living daylights out of everyone when he’d jumped up and roared “Sophia! Her name is Sophia!” and Morgana had called Mordred, letting them know they’d need some sort of magic that could drive sidhes out of their human bodies, but that was about it.

They’re close enough to hear Gwaine speaking to the clerk (apparently not Sophia, which they hadn’t really expected anyway). He’s laying it on thick about meeting Sophia at the store just the other week and wanting to see her again, but it doesn’t seem to be working. And in hindsight, Merlin realises it was a terrible plan because who in their right mind would tell a strange bloke details about their friend?

“Shit.” Morgana says. “Shit. _Shit_.”

“Shit,” Merlin finishes for her and Leon shoves the both of them in the shoulder.

Gwaine stays inside as long as he can without seeming like a creepy lurker. To be fair, he has probably surpassed that already, but when the clerk start giving him the side-eye, he comes back out, greeting them with a defeated shrug when he finds them.

“Couldn’t get a single word out of her,” Gwaine says.

“That’s okay, I got everything we need.” Everyone turns to look at Elena with wide eyes and she grins. “Snuck in the back while Gwaine was making an arse of himself. Her personnel file says she lives on Station Road.”

Gwaine plants a loud kiss on her lips and she laughs, pushing him away. “Oh, god, sod off.”

He beams anyway. “You’re perfect.”

“Can we just go,” she says, but Merlin’s pretty sure she’s blushing and it makes him smile, despite everything.

They run towards Station Road, the suffocating heat making sweat break out on his skin and his hair is soaked with it, sticking to his forehead. Morgana calls up Mordred to let the coven know what’s going on, taking no time to stop as they run, attracting a fair amount of odd looks, but it’s not like people in London have never seen people do odd things before. Merlin really doesn’t care.

Her home turns out to be a shabby looking building with an old hardware shop on the ground floor with two flats above it. They stop outside, pausing in place for a moment as they look up at the grimy windows. Merlin leans forward, pressing his hands to his knees. He’s not exhausted, as such – werewolf stamina and everything – but the heat makes it terribly difficult to breathe.

“What if she’s not home?”

“Oh god,” Morgana says, resting an arm against her forehead. “Don’t even.”

The door leading up to the flats is locked, but Leon kicks it out in one swift movement and they scramble up the narrow stairs. There are two doors when they reach the top and they look to Elena who looks puzzled for a moment.

“I think it’s this one,” she says.

“You _think_?” Morgana takes a deep breath. “Damn, I hope you’re right.”

She is right.

Sophia’s standing in the middle of the room when they barge in, like she knew they were coming, and Merlin supposes it may not have been all that difficult to see them hurtle down the street with no subtlety whatsoever. The room smells like an entire field of flowers, suffocating in its intensity and all of them cringe.

“You can’t have him,” Sophia says, her blonde hair gleaming softly as the light flickers in through the windows. “I need him.”

Merlin sees him, then, sitting on a chair in the corner of the room. He’s not bound and for a moment Merlin doesn’t understand how she’s keeping him, because Arthur is out of it but definitely conscious. His head is slung back and his eyes are hooded, but not closed, so he should be able to get up just fine. But then Merlin notices the black mountain ash on the floor, circling the chair.

“Could really use the coven right about now,” Merlin mutters.

Arthur stirs, his eyes focusing a little as he turns towards the sound. “Merlin?” he says, smiling a little dopily, and jesus. _Jesus_.

Yeah, Merlin’s fucked. He’s utterly, truly fucked and screwed and bollocksed, it doesn’t even matter. He almost has to laugh because mere weeks ago the hunters wondered if he was protecting his alpha and the thought alone was ridiculous. And now he’d go to so many lengths to protect his alpha that it’s downright terrifying.

And it’s not even about being forced to obey, it’s about wanting to live with the pack, it’s about taking care of people and being taken care of, and maybe it makes no sense to want this weird, slightly cult-like way of living, but he does. He really, really does.

Also, there might be another aspect of the whole wanting to protect his alpha thing, something that has nothing to do with Arthur as an alpha and everything to do with Arthur as Arthur.

“What do you mean, you need him?” Morgana asks when no one else makes the first move.

Sophia crosses her arms over her stomach, looking sullen.

“None of you understand. You don’t. All I want is to be human. A real human: one that doesn’t change back at night. I hate turning back at night, going into the forest because I can’t stand being inside. All the iron and steel makes me sick.”

The pack looks at each other, and Merlin is pretty sure they’re all doing the same thing he is: trying to find the loophole that will let them all leave unharmed.

“It’s all I’ve ever wanted to be,” Sophia says and the desperation in her voice is tangible. “I’ve never been like the others. They don’t understand.”

Merlin looks on, helpless as he sees the magic flare in Sophia’s eyes and the room feels even more suffocating. He glances over at Morgana and she meets his eyes as they both listen for signs of the coven. There are none yet.

“The earth magic – it needs a powerful sacrifice if I want my human form.” Sophia smiles and looks over at Arthur with a fond expression. “I knew he was perfect from the moment I saw him.”

Panic grips him, then, because he realises where this is leading. Arthur is going to be sacrificed, and there’s no way any of them can cross the mountain ash. And if the coven doesn’t get here in time, there’s no saying what kind of damage Sophia can do.

“Hey, guys,” Arthur says cheerily, his voice a little slurred. “Hot today, innit?”

“Listen,” Merlin says, ignoring the way Sophia’s eyes flash. “That’s all well and good. You go be human, I don’t care, but you’ll bloody well go find a way to do it without sacrificing someone else.”

“They exiled _my dad_ ,” she yells. “They just sent him away, never to be seen again, and what do I have left? I don’t have anything!”

It’s at that exact moment that the coven bursts through the door, hands raised in front of them and Merlin sees the intent in their eyes. He hadn’t heard them coming (he’d been much too focused on Sophia and Arthur), but now that they’re here he knows what they’re going to do and for a moment he thinks about stopping them.

But he’s selfish. Maybe if he wasn’t so selfish he’d let Sophia have her human body, but in the end, he needs Arthur and the thought alone of sacrificing him for this makes his stomach roll.

The spell is spoken in a low steady hum, the coven completely in sync with Morgause and Mordred at the front of the pack. Their eyes flash golden and the room is pulled into a bright glow. Merlin feels the magic on his skin, pulsing and crackling, sliding across it in a disconcertingly familiar way. It pulls on something inside him that makes him fidget uneasily. He wonders, a little hysterically, if he’s going to be smelling of this shit for a week.

He feels it the moment Sophia is pushed out of her human form, because the spell turns too intense and the smell is off, making him want to fold in on himself in self-preservation. And just when he thinks it’s over, she screams and it’s so desperate and agonising that he feels horrifically, monumentally bad for being selfish.

When the light fades, he thinks Sophia is completely gone for a moment and he panics, thinking they’ve killed her, before he sees the small, blue creature hovering in the air, her wings flapping softly and glittering in the light from the window. She’s hunched in on herself, her face hidden in her hands.

Merlin looks around at the others and is met with serious expressions all focused on her. He doesn’t know what to do. Is she technically still a threat? She could be. She still has Arthur in her power.

He suddenly catches the glance between Morgause and Mordred, and they raise their hands at the same time. There’s no doubt in his mind that this is it and he can’t let it happen. Because, yes, logically, it would be the safest, but it’s too close, he understands it too well.

“No!” he yells, running towards Sophia, just as Morgana does exactly the same.

They look at each other in surprise and when Morgana’s lips curl into a slight smile, he returns it. He knows she knows it, like he does. It’ll always be part of them to long for humanity – if not for themselves, then for their parent.

“Just, let’s not. It’s too messy. There’s got to be some other way,” Morgana says as Mordred lowers his hand.

Morgause is still holding out hers, but only until she sees the look on Morgana’s face.

“We don’t know what she might do,” Morgause says, clearly unimpressed.

The room falls quiet, the silence tense and unsure. No one really knows where this is going now. Merlin can almost hear a mouse nibble on a piece of cheese on the other side of London. That is, until Arthur suddenly starts humming, all out of tune and high-pitched. Merlin turns and looks at him, eyebrow raised, and Arthur grins back happily.

 _Idiot_.

The humming seems to snap everyone out of it and Sophia sniffs, running her fingers over her cheek.

“You know,” Freya says suddenly. “I come from Avalon. Do you?” When Sophia shakes her head, Freya smiles briefly. “I know that the lake nearby has a group of sidhes. You don’t have to go home. You can start over.”

Sophia crosses her arms over her chest, looking around the room as if she’s looking for another way out. But Morgause brings her arm up again and Sophia is more or less backed into a corner.

“You can agree to be taken to Avalon, or you can choose a more painful option,” Leon says. “It’s up to you.”

Morgana keeps a watchful eye on her. “And if we catch you here again, we won’t be as lenient.”

For a moment, Merlin thinks Sophia is going to give up without a fight. But then the magic flares in her eyes and Arthur squirms in his seat, leaning forwards to rest his head in his hands with a loud groan. When he looks up, his eyes are shining with this oddly silvery light. It’s not good. It’s very much not good.

Gwaine lunges towards her, but Elena tries to hold him back just as Merlin puts a hand to his chest as well.

“No, Gwaine.” Elena loses her breath a little as he struggles. “You’re going to get in the way! Mordred’s got it covered.”

“Let me go,” Gwaine growls just as someone yells something in a language Merlin can’t understand.

The magic pulses in the air around them, swirling under his skin, and something blue speeds past his head as the steady mutterings of a spell makes the still air around them move. It’s as if someone conjured up a storm.

It’s over in a few seconds, even as it feels a lot longer, and when Merlin manages to locate Sophia, she’s caught in a tiny cage of magic, throwing herself against the constraints before slumping down in defeat.

“It’s really not that bad not being human,” Elena says as she approaches the cage, but all it does is send Sophia into another desperate frenzy.

“Mordred,” Leon says as Morgause brings the cage into her hands with a subtle flick of her wrist, “break the circle.”

Running his foot over the line of ash, Mordred makes an opening in it and the force of it rushes out of the room. Merlin walks over, forcing himself to stay as calm as possible and not let absolutely everyone know how he wants to run around in circles and scream.

Arthur looks up at him when Merlin puts a hand on his shoulder and the smile on his face is so dopey that Merlin has to laugh and run his hand through Arthur’s hair just a _little_. Just. Really, really little.

“Come on, mate,” he says, putting his arm across Arthur’s back. “Let’s get you back home.”

He manages to get Arthur’s arm to rest on his shoulders and thankfully, Arthur is still present enough to not be completely dead weight.

Arthur turns his head into Merlin’s hair and inhales once and then again, until he suddenly sputters. “You smell _really bad_.” And Merlin has to laugh, because really, they’re here again.

“We’ll fix that,” he promises. “We’re pretty good at that.”

He thinks he hears Morgana gag somewhere in the vicinity, but he frankly doesn’t actually care.

The sun is still high in the sky when they finally get out of the house. Merlin doesn’t let himself look back as they hurry down the street as fast as Arthur is willing to move. It’s a little difficult when his arm is slung across Arthur’s lower back, but it doesn’t matter.

“You know,” Arthur says, his voice a little breathless. “I had a lot of time to think. And we’re definitely buying a house.”

“Thank _fuck_ ,” Gwaine says behind them and Merlin laughs helplessly.

***

“Ice cream in bed is the best birthday present ever,” Merlin says, licking his spoon clean.

He sits cross legged at the head of their bed in his boxers, leaning back against the headboard. Arthur’s head is resting against his thigh as he reads ( _Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy_ ), his hair tickling Merlin’s skin pleasantly.

“Really?” Arthur says absently. “Better than the blowjob I woke you up with?”

Merlin pauses and pretends to think about it. “I don’t know, it’s about equal.”

“Ungrateful tosser.”

Grinning, Merlin abandons his spoon for a moment to run his fingers through Arthur’s hair. “Maybe next year you’ll realise that you should combine them.”

Arthur snorts, his shoulder shaking slightly. “God, in what way, exactly? You want me to eat it first and then blow you, or you want to eat it while I blow you?”

“You know, I’m going to have to think about that. Two very enticing options.”

There are many advantages to the house they’d found. For one, it’s located in a fairly secluded area near Epping forest. It’s some way outside the more inhabited area of Loughton and it’s absolutely perfect because it has a backyard that basically opens up into the clearing of the forest like a well of possibilities and freedom.

But, really, the best part is probably the fact that he has a proper bed now and that he’s sharing it with Arthur. If Merlin had to choose between the forest and the bed, he’d go with the bed, no contest. Even if there had been plenty of bed-related activities happening in the forest too, really.

“Even without the ice cream blowjob this is the best birthday,” Merlin tells him, beaming. “Which part are you at?”

“Vogon poetry.”

“ _Third worst poetry in the universe_ ,” Merlin quotes. “Read for me?”

Arthur huffs, but reads anyway, his voice steady and clear. Merlin relaxes back against the headboard, picking at the little bit of ice cream he’s got left.

When Arthur stops, Merlin tugs a little at his hair to make him keep going, but Arthur ignores him. Instead, he stays quiet for a moment before he says, “you should text your mum.”

Merlin nearly drops the ice cream on Arthur, but catches himself just in time. His heart beats a little too fast and he wishes Arthur couldn’t hear it, but of course he does.

“It’s your _birthday_ , Merlin. And you’re shutting yourself away from your mum when there’s no reason to.”

He’s been trying not to think about her for weeks. She’d come up as soon as his birthday started closing in, of course, and he’d tried so hard to forget.

Merlin looks down at Arthur, no longer trying to hide what he feels because he’s long since realised it’s pretty much impossible. “Do you really think I should?”

“Yeah. I think you should. You’re still you and you know your wolf now. You’re not going to lose control.”

Merlin takes a moment to think. “Okay,” he says, putting the ice cream box on the nightstand and reaches down to run a hand over Arthur’s cheek.

“Merlin, ow, shit, that’s fucking _cold_!”

Laughing, Merlin pulls away, but then smirks and sticks his hand under the collar of Arthur’s t-shirt. Arthur flails and jumps upright, pulling away from him.

“Fuck you,” Arthur says as Merlin just laughs.

It looks like Arthur is planning to retaliate somehow, but thankfully, Merlin is saved by the smell of pizza distracting them both. They look at each other and bolt towards the door at the same time.

“Why do you even want pizza, you just had ice cream,” Arthur says as Merlin pushes him aside to get to the stairs first.

“Wow, do you even know me?” Merlin asks over his shoulder.

They stop in the doorway into the living room, finding the rest of the pack already seated on the floor around two pizza boxes. Elena has opened the top one and is biting into a slice, moaning contentedly.

“Better enjoy the peace while it lasts,” Merlin says and Arthur looks at him with raised eyebrows. “I just realised the other day that the fabric we found in the forest didn’t actually belong to Sophia.”

“Maybe it’s that minotaur you’ve been preparing for.”

Merlin grins. “Maybe it’s a _phoenix_.”

“Why would a phoenix wear clothes?”

“Why would a sidhe?” Merlin says, giving Arthur dubious look.

Gwaine makes a face. “Nevermind the fabric. I saw Gavin the other day and he wasn’t exactly a ray of sunshine.” He pushes the open box towards Morgana. “His pack’s probably going to be a right pain in the arse."

“Maybe.” Morgana reaches for a slice. “What do you think, Arthur?”

Merlin’s lips turn up in a smile at the redirection and she rolls her eyes at him, biting down a smile in return. It may not be much, but it’s more than Morgana has been willing to give Arthur in the past. And Merlin knows that it’s only going to get better, because the pack is stronger and Arthur understands more about being a good alpha than he did when Merlin first arrived.

“Who knows,” Arthur says, looking thoughtful but confident. “But we’ll deal with them. I can handle Gavin.”

Gwaine opens the second box of pizza and the smell is _fantastic_. Merlin brightens. “Are pizza blowjobs completely out of the question?”

Arthur snorts, trying and failing to hold back a smile.

The rest of the pack groans, dropping their slices.


End file.
